not above handing them round for general reading. "The weather is bad this month, and it will be a hard winter, but the summer is coming, and then this beastly scrap will be over, and I'll be home with my darling Annie." ("Darling Annie! He do 'ave a sauce, don't he?") "We are living in a German gun-emplacement, and Fritz is shelling it with 8-inch stuff all day long, something silly. But never mind, old girl! If a bullet or a shell has your name and number on it, you're a gone coon, it will be sure to hit you and put you out of worry; but if it hasn't it won't, which just shows the army is a game of fate." ("Fite? He don't know nothing, do he?")
But handing round her love-letters occasionally is the utmost limit of the sharing propensities of Tommy's sister, where her sweethearts are concerned. She can hardly ever be got to bring her boy in training to the clubs for recreation which the admirable Welfare Department of the Ministry of Munitions have established outside some
