Do you realise that I haven't written to you _once_ in four months
away? Do you? If you don't, I am hurt, if you do and _don't mind
realising it_ I am still more hurt. Taken either way you are a
heartless little dog and you don't deserve a letter.
There is only one hope for you. You may be too proud to enquire with
suitable asperity, why I have not written. I leave it to you, _are_ you
proud?
If so what of? Your ears?--I beg your pardon; I forgot Firstie. Of
course you've a right to be proud after all, but I don't see your
point. Why should your natural pride in Firstie be too great for you
to complain of my remissness. You are illogical Emma, as well as
heartless. I don't see what you're getting at.
If you see that son of mine, you might give him my love and tell him to
get his hair cut. If it hasn't been cut since the photo it must be too
long by now--unless it grows backwards: in which case he must have a
knot tied in each hair close to his blessed little scalp to prevent it
growing in too far and coming out of his chin as whiskers. Will you see
to this? I don't want to come back and find my little boy sprouting a
beard: he's too young for such things.
Please give my love to Mrs. Chapin with this, letter _enclo_. It's a
silly sort of letter--a great mistake I know--but--entre nous--(that's
French) I'm a silly sort of person and subject to quite idiotic moods
when I start thinking about all my darlings at home in England.
Bless you all.