Now it happened that the gallant brother, in the course of his duties as a war-winner, was moved from place to place so often that he gradually lost definition, as the photographers say, and the result was that one of her recent letters failed to catch up with him.  That was a pity, because it was a better letter than usual.  It gave all the news that he would most want to hear.  It said what picture her father was working on at the moment, and told, without spoiling them, his two last jokes.  It said whom her mother had called on and who had called on her mother and how something must be done to stop her smoking too many cigarettes.  It said that their young brother, having sprained his ankle at hockey, had become a wolf for jig-saw puzzles.  It said where their parents had dined recently and where they were going to dine and who was coming next week.  It said what she had seen at the theatre last Saturday and what book she was reading.  It said which of the other V.A.D.’s had become engaged.  It said what an awful time they had had trying to buy some tea, and how scarce butter had become, and what a cold she had caught in the last raid, and how Uncle Jim had influenza and couldn’t go on being a special, and how Aunt Sibyl had been introduced to one of the GEDDESES and talked to him as though it was the other, and how she herself had met Evelyn in the street the other day and Evelyn had asked “with suspicious interest after you”—­and a thousand other things such as a good sister, even though busy at a hospital, finds time to write to a brother over there, all among the mud and the shells, winning the War.  And not being in the habit of signing her name, when writing in this familiar way, she finished up with a reference to the darlingest of all dogs by sending its love at the very end:  “Love from ——­” and so forth.

Well, the letter, as I have said, could not be delivered.  The postal people at the Front, and behind the Front, are astonishingly good, but they could not get in touch with the brother this time, and therefore they opened the letter and looked at the foot of it for the name of the writer and found that of the dog, and at the head of it for the street and town where the writer lived, and sent it back as “insufficiently addressed.”

And that is why in a certain house in Chelsea a treasured possession is a returned letter for General SMUTS.

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From an article entitled “Is it Safe for Cousins to marry?":—­

    “It is just as well, however, to pick out somebody besides your
    cousin for your wife.” The Family Doctor.

Before acting on this advice, however, it might be safer to consult The Family Lawyer.

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[Illustration:  AFTER A DAY ON THE ALLOTMENT.

“SUDDENLY SHE REALISED THAT HER IDOL HAD FEET OF CLAY.”—­Extract from popular novel.]

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