[_Vailima_], _October_ 8_th_ 1894.
MY DEAR CUMMY,—So I hear you are ailing? Think shame to yourself! So
you think there is nothing better to be done with time than that? and be
sure we can all do much ourselves to decide whether we are to be ill or
well! like a man on the gymnastic bars. We are all pretty well. As for
me, there is nothing the matter with me in the world, beyond the
disgusting circumstance that I am not so young as once I was. Lloyd has
a gymnastic machine, and practises upon it every morning for an hour: he
is beginning to be a kind of young Samson. Austin grows fat and brown,
and gets on not so ill with his lessons, and my mother is in great price.
We are having knock-me-down weather for heat; I never remember it so hot
before, and I fancy it means we are to have a hurricane again this year,
I think; since we came here, we have not had a single gale of wind! The
Pacific is but a child to the North Sea; but when she does get excited,
and gets up and girds herself, she can do something good. We have had a
very interesting business here. I helped the chiefs who were in prison;
and when they were set free, what should they do but offer to make a part
of my road for me out of gratitude? Well, I was ashamed to refuse, and
the trumps dug my road for me, and put up this inscription on a board:—
‘_Considering the great love of His Excellency Tusitala in his loving
care of us in our tribulation in the prison we have made this great
gift_; _it shall never be muddy_, _it shall go on for ever_, _this road
that we have dug_!’ We had a great feast when it was done, and I read
them a kind of lecture, which I dare say Auntie will have, and can let
you see. Weel, guid bye to ye, and joy be wi’ ye! I hae nae time to say
mair. They say I’m gettin’ _fat_—a fact!—Your laddie, with all love,