Colonel T. has an attack of rheumatism, is in bed, and feels very sorry for himself.
We take Christmas dinner at B. H. 45, that is unless I have the good luck to get away before then. Every one is beginning to feel very homesick and restless. I cannot realize that Christmas will be here in four days. There isn't a suggestion of it in the air.
The children keep up a continual chatter in the next room, but strange, it is rather pleasant than otherwise. If they would only not start the squeaky old pump at seven in the morning!
Christmas Eve, 1918. It hardly seems possible that another year has rolled by and Christmas is here again. One year ago to-night, and now here again in Toul.
Goodall, Yocum and self went to Nancy this afternoon. In the evening the Delatté children came in my room, played the piano and they danced. I gave them some candy; then to supper.
Dinner was pretty sad. Never try and be gay, is a rule that should be taught in childhood.
My landlady, is having "tea" at nine this evening, and I am expected to join. The day started beautifully, but it is sleeting hard now. And mud everywhere.
No signs of Christmas anywhere among the French, except Madame Delatté asked me to go to Midnight Mass with her. She got confessed this afternoon, and is ready now for another year of miserliness. Much to my astonishment, she made me a brioche.