e
there."

That Mass _could_ safely be said in such a veritable inferno as
Thiacourt November 1st offered very reasonable room for doubt. Located
but a single kilometer from the front line trench, its ruins were
shelled by day, and air bombed by night, with daring Fokers and Taubes
finding rare sport in spraying its main street with machine gun fire.

The gallant boys of the 55th Infantry, nine hundred of whom came from
Chicago, were then bravely holding that death-swept point; and I was
determined to bring them the consolation and strength of Religion in
their supreme need.

Dawn was breaking that Sunday morning when I rode through Bouillonville.
Leading north from this village the road leaves the shelter of a
friendly hill and plunges boldly across the open plain. Our Batteries
were firing constantly from every available angle of the hills, and the
enemy's spirited reply made very heavy the din of gun fire. In all
directions, on roadside, field and hill, geysers were rising, and
yawning yellow craters forming from the impact of bursting shells.

It was seldom I urged "Jip" out of a canter. This morning, however,
things were different. The road through the open plain lay full in view
and range of eagle-eyed enemy snipers.

Across the pommel of the saddle, in front, was fastened a bag of oats;
and behind, my Mass kit. Tightly I strapped on my steel helmet, with gas
mask tied at "alert."

Leaving the shelter of the hill I leaned forward and spoke to "Jip."
"Allez! Allez! Mon petit cheval!" Right bravely he responded. With ears
back, and raven mane and tail streaming to the breeze, he fairly hurled
himself forward across the death-swept plain. His speed and courage
stood between me and eternity.

It is not easy for even the best sniper to hit such a fast moving horse.
At a point two hundred yards to the right of us burst a huge shell. To
just the slightest degree "Jip" trembled, but with never a break of his
even flying stride. "Thank God!" was my heartfelt prayer as we reached
the ruined mill at Thiacourt.

Quickly dismounting I led "Jip" deep into the rear of a building whose
front was shot away.

O how I hugged and patted that brave little horse; and from the manner
he pawed the ground and rubbed his nose against my side I felt he fairly
thrilled with the pride of his race with death. For your sake, my brave
little "Jip," I will never be unkind to a horse as long as I live.

Rewarding him with an extra rat