is attitude toward war was this: "We will die
for France, but calling the Germans names will not help us to win. It
only takes breath."

"Allons, messieurs!"

As our car ran up a gentle hill we noticed two soldiers driving a load of
manure. This seemed a pretty prosaic, even humiliating, business, in
a poetic sense, for the brave poilus, veterans of Lorraine's great
battle. But Father Joffre is a true Frenchman of his time. Why should
not the soldiers help the farmers whose sons are away at the front
and perhaps helping farmers back of some Other point of the line?

Over the crest of the hill we came on long lines of soldiers bearing
timbers and fascines for trench-building, which explained why some
of the villages were empty. A fascine is something usually made of
woven branches which will hold dirt in position. The woven wicker
cases for shells which the German artillery uses and leaves behind
when it has to quit the field in a hurry, make excellent fascines, and a
number that I saw were of this ready-made kind. After carrying shell
for killing Frenchmen they were to protect the lives of Frenchmen.
Near by other soldiers were turning up a strip of fresh earth against
the snow, which looked like a rip in the frosting of a chocolate cake.

"How do you like this kind of war?" we asked. It is the kind that
irrigationists and subway excavators make.

"We've grown to be very fond of it," was the answer. "It is a cultivated
taste, which becomes a passion with experience. After you have
been shot at in the open you want all the earth you can get between
you and the bullets."

Now we alighted from the motor-car and went forward on foot. We
passed some eight lines of trenches before we came to the one
where we were to stop. A practised military eye had gone over all that
ground; a practised military hand had laid out each trench. After the
work was done the civilian's eye could grasp the principle. If one
trench were taken, the men knew exactly how to fall back on the next,
which commanded the ground they had left. The trenches were not
continuous. There were open spaces left purposely. All that front was
literally locked, and double and triple locked, with trenches. Break
through one barred door and there is another and another
confronting you. Considering the millions of burrowing and digging
and watching soldiers, it occurred to one that if a marmite (saucepan)
came along and buried our little party, our loss would no