23 January 1922

Chalet des Sapins, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

   Your still life sounds lovely & I like to think of your bottils, all in a row. They are lovely things, even those slender hock bottles. But I see them from the ‘literary' point of view. They say summer & lunch out of doors and strawberries on a glass plate with gold specks in it. . .
   I have just heard from DelaMare about my little family in The Mercury and from America where another story of the same people is coming out in The Dial. I feel like Lottie and Kezias mother after the letters I have got this month. It is surprising and very lovely to know how people love little children, the most unexpected people -
   Heres the doctor stumping up the stairs. No, he has stopped halfway to talk to the Mountain. Elizabeth is here again with a minute sledge on a string wherever she goes. She herself in tiny black breeks & gaiters looks like an infant bishop. Murry & she flew down thousands of feet yesterday - right down into the valley. She is a radiant little being whatever the weather. Born under a dancing star -
   He comes. I must end this. Goodbye for now - You know what I think of these gifts. But send me no more, my little artist. You are too lavish. Keep your pennies now.
   I embrace you - You must feel that there is in this letter warm tender love. For its there.
             Tig  [To Dorothy Brett, 21 January 1922.]