On such a day one cannot but think of home, of green grass, of budding trees, of new clothes, of church music. My sister is singing today in church. At home it is 11 o clock in the evening and they have just gone to bed. Maybe Withrop is nursing over his cigar before the open fire. May is at home and possibly Lillian and Neil. May God bless them all. I have never been homerich but three years in the Arctic has endeared me to it more than I can tell.