DEAR GERTIE, Mont Blanc has put his head under a cloud, and there is nothing to be seen outside except a lot of guides and porters waiting for the diligence to come from Geneva. So before the dinner bell rings, I will send off my week’s letter, and it shall be to you. Tell Tood that the next week’s, which will be the last that I shall write, shall be to her, for she has been a good little girl and written me beautiful letters all summer. So have you. I got your letter here last night with the picture of the bird house in the garden on the side of the paper. After you get this letter, remember that you are not to do a single thing exciting until I get home, so that you will be all fresh and strong to play with me. Only two weeks from today ! Just think of it ! Two weeks from now the beautiful Pavonia will be steaming away down the Channel, bound for North Andover, and three weeks from next Sunday I shall stand up in Trinity again.
You cannot think how splendid the great mountain was last night. The sky was perfectly clear and the moon was glorious, and the big round dome of snow shone like another world. The people stood and gazed at it and looked solemn. This morning it had changed, but was no less beautiful. It was like a great mass of silver. And so it stands there and changes from one sort of beauty to another, year after year, and age after age.
I think you must have a beautiful time this summer with the pony, and next year we must try to have one of our own. Make up your mind what kind and color he shall be, and we will look about and see what we can find when I get home. It must be a great sight to see Tood driving all by her blessed self, and all the fast horses on the road getting out of the way for fear she will run over them. Perhaps you and she can drive me out to Cambridge, mornings in November, in the pony-cart. I wonder if I shall go there this year, and whether you will go with me. Good-by now. Affectionately, your uncle, P.