Thursday. Mar. 22. '17
Two more letters from you this morning dearie and it is so sweet of you. Aunt Edie is wonderfully impressed. She asked me how often you wrote and when I said 'every day' she had a 'that's all very well for a story' sort of look, but now when they do come every day or two every other day, she is lost in admiration. I'm sorry your knee is not better dearie but you must have damaged it considerably going on after it got that whack. You won't be an old crock dear heart. I know that knee and if it gets half a show it will be alright. It will take longer than usual this time because you didn't give it a ghost of a chance. But if you could come to England for a while dearie I would so like it - you could go back again, and there would be some preliminaries anyway before you got a new job. However I'm not anticipating any necessity for a new job for I know that knee will be better in time to get a good whack at the Huns before the war is over.
The news is so good these days that we can hardly grasp it all but we feel too that it is partly our success and partly a bit of strategy on the part of the Germans. However the general feeling is that they have given up more than they intended to just now and they didn't expect us to follow on their heels so closely.
Miss Mackie has just been here for tea. She is very nice and says she just remembers you as a little boy. Then a Dr. Walker and Mrs. Walker came. He is a son of your old family doctor and knows your father and mother.
Wasn't it strange that you were thinking of exactly the same thing as I was in St. Patricks' day. It wasn't strange either for I think minds run in the same channels at the same time very often but it is very sweet of you to write about it.
Aunt Edie sent you a couple of books. One "Dear Enemy" by the same author as "Daddy Long Legs" is very good with such a pretty love story. The other I haven't read.
Good-night dearie heart with all my love and kisses. Your little pal, Alice Leighton.