ur,--"She is an example," said Frau Bornsted, who
wants to talk English all the time, which will play havoc, I'm afraid,
with my wanting to talk German.

She took me to a window and showed me the cow, pasturing, like David,
beside still waters. "And without rebellious thoughts unsuited to her
sex," said Frau Bornsted, turning and looking at me. She showed what
she was thinking of by adding, "I hope you are not a suffragette?"

The Oberforster put on a thin green linen coat for supper, which he
left unbuttoned to mark that he was off duty, and we sat round the
table till it was starlight. Owls hooted in the forest across the
road, and bats darted about our heads. Also there were mosquitoes. A
great _many_ mosquitoes. Herr Bornsted told me I wouldn't mind them
after a while. "_Herrlich_," I said, with real enthusiasm.

And now I'm going to bed. Kloster was right to send me here. I've
been leaning out of my window. The night tonight is the most beautiful
thing, a great dark cave of softness. I'm at the back of the house
where the meadow is and the good cow, and beyond the meadow there's
another belt of forest, and then just over the tops of the pines, which
are a little more softly dark than the rest of the soft darkness,
there's a pale line of light that is the star-lit water of the Haff.
Frogs are croaking down by the stream, every now and then an owl hoots
somewhere in the distance, and the air comes up to my face off the long
grass cool and damp. I can't tell you the effect the blessed silence,
the blessed peace has on me after the fret of Berlin. It feels like
getting back to God. It feels like being home again in heaven after
having been obliged to spend six weeks in hell. And yet here, even
here in the very lap of peace, as we sat in the porch after supper the
Oberforster talked ceaselessly of Weltpolitik. The very sound of that
word now makes me wince; for translated into plain English, what it
means when you've pulled all the trimmings off and look at it squarely,
is just taking other people's belongings, beginning with their blood.
I must learn enough German to suggest that to the Oberforster: Murder,
as a preliminary to Theft. I'm afraid he would send me straight back
in disgrace to Frau Berg.

Good night darling mother. I'll write oftener now. My rules don't
count this fortnight. Bless you, beloved little mother.

Your Chris.

_Schuppenfelde, Monday, July 13th_.

Sweet moth