Us and the Bottleman

long casualty lists every day. This said that Somebody-or-other Westland was "wounded and missing." We didn't know why it made her so sad, because we'd never heard of such a person, but of c

ilsa's lap and told her long stories which she seemed to like much better than the H. G. Wells books. He als

tic, and if you strew handfuls of beads and tin washers among the carpets and then dig for them in the dark with a hockey-stick and a pocket flash-light, it's not poor fun. Unf

ad the round Indian basket from Mother's work-table on his head, and some automobile goggles, and yards and yards of green braid wound over his jumper, and Mother's carriage-boots, which

n old felt hat with a bit of candle-end (not lit) stuck in the ribbon, and a bandana tied askew around his neck. But

o that you can hear the rain on it. The boys lay on the floor, and Mother and I sat on the couch, and we listened to the rain on the roof and the sound-something like rain-of the piano, and Father's 'cello booming along with it. They played a thing called "Air Religieux" that I think none

crying, and Mother talking the way she does to us when something makes us unhappy. I felt rather frightened, som

she'd overlooked. The phlox itself was staggering with flowers, and all the lupin leaves held round water-drops in the hollows of their five-fingered hands. Greg said that they were fairy wash-basins. He also found a drowned field-mouse and a sparrow. He was frightfully sorry about it, and car

tle sp

ps to

fly in a

aps you

the

field

the poem secretly, before the cigar-box was buried at the end of the rose-bed. I think Greg really cried

bout. The three of us went down to the foot of the garden after dark and did an exhibition for the others. By whisking the joss-sticks around by their floppy handles you can make all sorts of fiery circles. I made two little ones for eyes, and Greg did

orgeous. After that we had a candle-light procession around the garden, and the grown people said that the candles looked very mysterious bobbing in and out between the trees. We felt more like high priests

mail just before the end of breakfast, and we can hear him click the gate as he comes in. This morning Jerry and Greg dashed for the

ll take you all day!" and dodgi

eet," Greg read slowly. Then he tripped over the threshold and

's funny writing, and I k

id Jerry, with

ope, and I looked a

"I truly belie