Dearest Mother:—

It is great to know that you are all so happy at Bailey’s and accomplishing so much for us. Little sister, sitting with hands folded on the other side of Periscope Pond, wonders why the youngsters don’t amuse themselves sometimes by erecting, or by listening to Charles Thomas erect, a good spring-board. We’ve needed one long; and if you don’t think that summer posterity would be grateful, then you don’t know this member of it as well as I think you do.

I have the queerest feeling when I talk about summer and Bailey’s. Life goes along just the same here: up every morning, work all day, tea, more work, dinner, write, or play, and then bed. The weather is cool and beautiful, sometimes quite cold, occasionally rainy, but always I think of it being April, or possibly May; and a week from Wednesday is the first of August. Guess where I’ll be! Our vacation plans are very exciting and I can’t wait for this week to be over. This is how things have worked out.

When Father cabled me about going to Switzerland, the last thing on earth that I wanted to do was to go on a vacation. I considered my week of grippe and my week at Saint-Germain a terrible lapse, and wanted to do everything in the world to make up for it. Agathe had been sent on a vacation, because she was worn out, and then I went off, leaving Mrs. L—— all alone at the Vestiaire. I worked as hard as I could during May, doing Vestiaire work in the morning, and visiting in the afternoon, driving the car a good deal, taking the big packages to the stations and sending them off, and doing a good many odd jobs. On the 15th of June, Mrs. L—— went away on her vacation, and I was left in charge of the Vestiaire, with Agathe to help. It was a circus and I enjoyed it hugely. Then on the 23d Marje broke her wrist and besides being pretty hard to bear for a while, it tied things up considerably. I was the sole chauffeur for the Association, and the sole hairdresser, amanuensis, shoe-tier, bath-giver, etc., at Place-Denfert. Miss Curtis went over to the American Red Cross about the first of July, where she is invaluable. We miss her tremendously, however, and there will have to be a new distributing of work in the fall. Marje and I just adore her, and we miss working with her, but she brings Miss Sturgis down to work every morning in the car so that we see her a good deal, anyway. She is the most clear-headed, honest, intelligent, nice person I ever knew. She is always a sport about everything—I can’t imagine her doing anything that wasn’t so square that an ordinary person wouldn’t ever even think of doing it. Marje and I would like to be just like her—and if ever anybody wasn’t, it’s me! She has blue eyes and a deep voice, anyway; and I don’t believe you can be really efficient without them.

Well, there wasn’t much chance for a vacation for me, was there? And I had no desire to go away and would even now stay with Marje if her arm wasn’t healing so wonderfully that she can go away right on schedule too. Mrs. L—— got back last Monday, the 16th, and Mrs. Shurtleff left on Tuesday, the 17th. I took her and all her trunks down to Gare Montparnasse in a perfect cloudburst, and then had to come back for a little hatbox. It’s the best thing I do to handle other people’s trunks; but you just wait till next Tuesday and I’ll be off myself. Mrs. Shurtleff is beyond compare adorable, and I was glad of the extra visit I had with her.

These last two weeks are being spent in winding up loose threads, having a few families come to the Vestiaire, moving the last people on our list, going out to Montrouge for our last gasoline supply, calling for contributions of beds, sewing-machines, etc., buying a store of food for the Food Department, etc., etc.

We have arranged with friends to take turns at the office during August, attending to important mail, sending out notices that the Vestiaire is closed until October, giving out food to our regular families every Tuesday, etc. The weather is no hardship—nothing like the heat of May and June, and for blueness and clearness equaled only at Bailey’s.

Well, Marje and I decided, way back when the snow flew, that we would be one and inseparable, now and forever, in regard to vacation; but as August loomed nearer, all we heard were the most discouraging reports of discomfort and expense in regard to hotels. So many of the usual resorts are closed that the few hotels anywhere that are attractive, that are open, boost their prices way up. The last thing we wanted to do was to chase around after vacation started, to find a perch. We inquired about Switzerland and were told by the Embassy that it was feasible; but by business men and the general public that it was made as difficult and unpleasant as possible to get back. Marje dreads a long train trip, and I knew Mrs. Shurtleff would have a fit if we went, and would worry over us.

One day we asked Miss Curtis and Miss Sturgis quite casually what their plans were, and Miss Curtis said that all she wanted was to be “somewhere near the sea, tied by the leg and left to browse.” Then Miss Buchanan, the terribly nice Scotch girl, sculptor, who gives half her time to the work, was sounded, and we found we all wanted the same thing. We got Baedeker, picked out euphonious names, and wrote to thirteen different hotels. One answered—and sent a hideous post-card view. Miss Sturgis and Miss Curtis keep house and were going to send the maids off somewhere. Suddenly they proposed taking a villa, and a Miss Hyde, also a worker, told us of the villa she had rented last year, and I went over and telegraphed, and yesterday morning got a reply that it was free, so we’ve taken it! It’s in Brittany, near Dinard, and we go Tuesday, July 31st, on a couchette, and arrive the next morning. We have no linen and no silver, no coal or wood; no lamps or anything; but we have plans! Doesn’t it sound entrancing? Villa ValÉrie, Val AndrÉ, CÔtes-du-Nord. I’m just squealing with joy!