Toulouse, France,
Sept. 25, 1914.
Dear Mamma:
Paul and I have received only one letter from you since being here. It was a note written Sept. 4, and addressed to London, and begging us to come home. The thought of you has been the very thing that has worried me since my enlisting. I realize how you feel, and did before I enlisted, but I don’t think you should worry or feel bad. I am of such a temperament that if I didn’t do things that seem strange to you, I could never be satisfied, myself, or make a success of my life. You would not wish my life to be a failure in my own mind, even if by doing so I should live many years and be always with you. If I should be killed in this war I will at least die as a man should and would not consider myself a complete failure. I know you must think me selfish and inconsiderate of your feelings, but I am not. You expect great things of me and I want to do great things, and can see a great future before me. If I am killed in the attempt to attain that future, I have at least done my best; that is all any of us can do.
Since being here I have taken more interest in life than ever before. It has brought out new feelings and thoughts in me. I think if anything will make a man of me, it is this giving as a volunteer one’s best for an ideal.
To-morrow we leave here and will have no address except France. There will probably be times when I shall be unable to write for weeks. But please don’t worry. If anything should happen to either of us you would hear before a letter could reach you. The government has your address and several of our friends have it. We are only a few Americans and if anything should befall any of us the news would be sent immediately to the States.
We have been working very hard and my feet have bothered me a little from a forced march we took the other morning. It is going to be a life of hardships but I am willing to go through them, and actually enjoy them. The only worry is you. But I hope you will be proud of me instead of worrying over me.
Lots of love for you and Agnes,
Kiffin