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Southern Pines N.C.
7.p.m 25 march 1933.

Dear Folks:

Here we are in 2 little cabins as cozy as can be. The cabins have a double bed, a couple of tables, [[strikethrough]] if [[/strikethrough]] 2 chairs, plenty of shelves on the walls, a little air tight stove, and 3 windows. We have eaten our supper together, and now I am cooking oatmeal on the stove for breakfast. Sid has been up to get a bottle of milk & some cream & coffee to boil for breakfast. The baby is playing with the map & talking. Auntie is in her cabin scribbling a letter home. And shortly we are all going to bed. 

We are in a little wayside garage-cabin place run by a couple of Conn. boys whose mother can't stand the New England cold winters. One of them came over to chat with me while the baby was busy hunting under the pine needles that are thick over the cabins ground, for beetles. The pines are the very long leafed southern pines such as we found at Wilmington. It is as neat as a pin here and costs about 1/2 as much as a hotel, and gives us a chance to get our own meals.

We are on the outskirts of one of the