No letter from you to-day. I am sending you the Banks drawings this evening. Enough string came with my parcel from Ida to make it possible. If you want any meat (and if—oh, well no—not necessarily) bring some down with you, please dear. Meat and tea. That is all we want. It is a very grey day again, here, half raining—and a loud roaring noise in the trees. This morning a robin flew into my room. I caught it. It did not seem at all frightened but lay still and very warm. I carried it to the window and I cannot tell you what a strange joyful feeling—when the little bird flew out of my hands. I am sorry you did not write to me. I count on your letters in the morning and always wake up early and listen for the postman. Without them the day is very silent.