Better, far better, to take pack on back, pilgrim staff in hand, and then—to the woods and the hills with Sweetheart and me, where never "teuf-teuf" can be heard, nor petrol perfume the land.
But at least in Sweetheart's new book you will only find the old sweet things, the pleasures that do but gladden, the record of things at once simple and gracious and tender—such as, if you have been fortunate, must have happened to yourself. She does not once mention any car except that pulled along by honest "gees," or that still more favorite sort of all engineering achievements—the fortifications that the next tide will sweep away.
Sweetheart, little Sweetheart, and that "dear diary" of yours—for this relief, much thanks! God keep you ever of the humble, of the wayside-goers, of those who think—first, second and always—of the comfort of their fellow-men, especially of the weak, the friendless, and the poor who foot it along life's way. In brief, may you stay what you have always been, Sweet of heart—and my Heart!
Ainsi soit-il!
S. R. Crockett.