I found mountain conditions plus cold, mist and rain too much for me once more. And shifted to this small town, which is in the valley. Here I shall stay until I return to Paris. J. has, however, remained up aloft and only comes down for week-ends. This is an excellent really first-rate hotel—the pleasantest I have ever known. It is simple but extremely comfortable and the food is almost too good to be true. Sierre is only 1700 feet high, which makes a great difference to my heart, too. If one had no work to do it would be a dull little place, for apart from the hotel there is nothing much to be said for it. But another great point in its favour is there is a farm attached, where the faithful old Swiss gardeners allow me to explore. This is all complete with cows, turkeys, poultry and a big rambling orchard that smells already of apples. The damson trees are the first I remember seeing since those at Karori. After all, a country life is hard to beat. It has more solid joys than any other that I can page 225 imagine. I thank heaven and my papa that I was not born a town child.

Yes, indeed, I too wish that I were taking a trip home with you. It would be a marvellous experience. The very look of a “steamer trunk” rouses the old war horse in me. I feel inclined to paw the ground and smell the briny. But perhaps in ten years time, if I manage to keep above ground, I may be able to think seriously of such a treat.

I have just finished a story with a canary for the hero, and almost feel I have lived in a cage and pecked a piece of chickweed myself. What a bother!