My dear Mother,

Have just rec'd your letter and am ashamed that I have not written before; but on Tuesday a fellow turned up from British Columbia who was going to buy a timber limit. On the way down he met David Ross who was coming home with a sore leg. David told him that I would be a good man to look over his timber limit and report so on Tuesday he looked me up and asked me to go and then provided he could get the funds from his bank. Unfortunately he was unable to do this so the trip was knocked on the head. However this was the reason I did not write. I wanted to see if anything was going to come of it. Poor Dave Ross, was up to see him. He was laid out on a sofa with his bad leg. Did not ask him for details but will see him again soon. Saw Mrs. Ross and Eleanor. They are back looking pretty well.

On Monday last went out to Eglinton. Hilda is really looking wonderfully well. She is getting quite fat. She says she doesn't have to do a hand's turn. She will be there she says until August first, am going out there again this afternoon.

On Tuesday last I went to Mrs. Whittemore's to tea after having put them off for at least five weeks. Harry is doing quite well, Mrs. Whittemore says. I am sure he will do much better than he ever would at home.

On Thursday night young Harry Gooderham from Winnipeg dropped into the office and took me over to his house on the Island for dinner. He had just been to the funeral of J.G. Blackstock. Quite a gay funeral he said it was. We then went to McKonkey's for afternoon tea. We have to have a cup of tea in the afternoon and then we went over to the Island. He wanted to stay all night but would have had to get up too early in the morning so came home that night. These are my doings for this week.

Am glad you are taking to the water. It will be good for you. I did not think you would ever reconcile yourself to a rowboat.

Do not know yet when Bob Henderson is coming back so cannot say when I shall be able to get any holidays.

Well my dear Mother must close. Will write soon again.

Your loving son

T.B. McQuesten