"
This fall when the time came to pack eggs, I said, "Hang, perhaps we
had better pack the eggs in oats this year." He said, "Naw, loats no
glood!" Then came my revenge. I said, "Mrs. Pierce puts hers in oats,"
but he became angry and said, "Yes, me know--Missee Pleese no
know--slalt makee him allee same flesh." And in salt they are, and
Hang packed every one. I offered to show him how to do it, but he
said, "Me know--you see." It gave him such a fine opportunity to
dictate to Volmer! If the striker did not bring the eggs the very
moment he thought they should be in, Hang would look him up and say,
"You bling leggs!" Just where these boxes of eggs are I do not know.
The Chinaman has spirited them off to some place where they will not
freeze. He cannot understand all this ranking out of quarters,
particularly after he had put the house in perfect order. When I told
him to sweep the rooms after everything had been carried out, he said:
"What for? You cleanee house nuff for him; he no care," and off he
went. I am inclined to think that the little man was right, after all.
There have been many changes in the garrison during the past few
months, and a number of our friends have gone to other posts. Colonel
and Mrs. Palmer, Major and Mrs. Pierce, and Doctor and Mrs. Gordon are
no longer here. We have lost, consequently, both of our fine tenors
and excellent organist, and our little choir is not good now.
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