Dear Mrs. Dalton, -<br><br>To offer this book to you and your sister is an act of gratitude, due, now, for many years. And when I think of you and of her, I cant but remember, need I say, one whom we all love and without whom I shouldn't have met you. And with all of you, I think too of Australia; it was one of the happy paradoxes of those sad years of war, that a new Continent has come to mean so much to me, and that I can widen my affection so honestly and so far. I like to think of the days when you made your rooms at Oxford into a home for so many Australian cadets, who met on our side of the globe not always what wed have wished for them, nor what they'd hoped for; but they found, with you, how much that was happy and healthful, and that reminded them, and that encouraged them! Better still, perhaps, were your visits to the wards of so many hospitals - the Base, Cowley, Headington, and the rest. I know what it meant to those men, and not least to the black sheep - who were not so very black, were they, after all, not to mention the one who turned out so white a lamb!