In "The Hilltop on the Marne" Mildred Aidrich had something to say and said it well. In "On the Edge of the War Zone" she appears to have nothing of much moment to write of and she only succeeds in being tiresome. One suspects that the success of the earlier work led to a call for more "copy," with an unhappy result. The hilltop is now back of the French line and little seems to happen there except as soldiers pass to and fro along the road. The days go by in comparative monotony, and the intimate details of household affairs fill up many weary pages. With so many interesting stories of war to be told one can only regret this long-drawn-out, gossipy chronicle of small happenings. The Dial, 1918.
pretty in her nurse's dress and veil. But she will always think that she lost a great opportunity that day--and a picturesque one.
By the way, I have a new inmate in my house--a kitten. He was evidently lost during the emigration. Amélie says he is three months old. He arrived at her door crying with hunger the other morning. Amélie loves beasties better than humans. She took him in and fed him. But as she has six cats already, she seemed to think that it was my duty to take this one. She cloaked that idea in the statement that it was "good for me" to have "something alive" moving about me in the silent little house. So she put him in my lap. He settled himself down, went to sleep, and showed no inclination to leave me.
At the end of two hours he owned me--the very first cat I ever knew, except by sight.
So you may dismiss that idea which torments you--I am no longer alone.
I am going to send this letter at once to be dropped in the box in front of the post-office, wh