Hier j'aidé le frère Pascal, qui est le cuisiniere de porte le bois dans la cuisine, without thinking, j'ai laisser tomber les morceau de bois dans un chaudron de soup.
Le bon frère didn't get mad, he just said: "Tu a fais ton mieux mon petit, voici des pommes en payment de votre ouvrage." I didn't consider it work, it was just play.
J'ai achete' des raquettes (snow shoes) we have a fine skating rink, and we play hockey every day.
I had to buy new moccasins, mine were all cut after a long walk over a rough road. I have a new Cache-nez (muffler) and a surtout; et un casquette Canadian, which covers toute ma tete et mes oreilles, leaving only my eyes and nose free, so I don't feel the cold, although the thermometer is always below zero.
March 5th.
Dear Papa and Mamma: It is now three weeks since I wrote the above. I have been in the infirmary, but don't be alarmed; I'm all right now. The way it was, the boys dared me to climb a telegraph pole covered with ice. As I had once climbed a greased pole, I thought I could manage this one. I succeeded somehow, though I had a hard tussle to accomplish the feat.
The boys cheered and made such a racket, one of the Brothers came out, in my hurry to descend I fell when within a few feet of the ground, and broke my ankle. Dr. Dion, a fine surgeon, set it, and placed my foot in plaster-of-paris. Brother Director wrote to Aunt Lucy and Dr. Carroll, but not to Papa or you, as it was no use to worry you. I have had the best of care, the Brother Infirmarian was a doctor out in the world and knows all about nursing.
I am fed on "sugar and spice and everything nice."
Monsieur Le Curé sits with me every day. I could walk now if they would let me.