Sister Baynes came into my room just as I was putting on my out-door
uniform and wanted to know how I was spending my two hours off duty. She is
full of curiosity about--she calls it interest in--other people's affairs.
When I told her I was going out to buy a birthday present she looked rather
stern. Said she:--
"The giving of unnecessary presents has become a luxury which few of us
nowadays think it right to afford."
I didn't answer her because at the moment I could think of no really
adequate reason why Bobbie _should_ have a present, except that I so very
much wanted to give him one. Bobbie is tall and young and red-haired and,
of course, khaki clad. We are going to be married "when the War is over."
I pondered Sister Baynes' words until I reached Oxford Street, and then
forgot them in the interest of choosing the present. For a while I
hesitated between cigarettes and chocolates, and finally decided on the
latter. Bobbie is a perfect pig about sweets. I bought a
comfortable-looking box, ornamented with a St. George, improbably attired
in khaki, slaying a delightful German dragon clad in blue and a Uhlan
helmet. St. George had red hair and a distinct look of Bobbie, which was
one reason why I got him.
[Illustration: THE COMBINATION SCOOTER AND CARPET SWEEPER.