would be wearing the helmet
of the invader; for his vine-covered house he would have substituted a
trench; for his garden pick a German rifle.

For Wilhelm was a faithful subject of Germany while he remained there.
He is a Socialist. He does not believe in war. Live and help others to
live is his motto. But at the behest of the Kaiser, Wilhelm too would
have gone to his appointed place.

It was of Wilhelm then, and others of his kind, that I thought as I
stood in the end of the new-fashion trench, looking at the rabbit
trap. There must be many Wilhelms in the German Army, fathers, good
citizens, kindly men who had no thought of a place in the sun except
for the planting of a garden. Men who have followed the false gods of
their country with the ardent blue eyes of supreme faith.

I asked to be taken home.

On the way to the machine we passed a _mitrailleuse_ buried by the
roadside. Its location brought an argument among the officers.
Strategically it would be valuable for a time, but there was some
question as to its position in view of a retirement by the French.

I could not follow the argument. I did not try to. I was cold and
tired, and the red sunset had turned to deep purple and gold. The guns
had ceased. Over all the countryside brooded the dreadful peace of
sheer exhaustion and weariness. And in the air, high overhead, a
German plane sailed slowly home.

* * * * *

Sentries halted us on the way back holding high lanterns that set the
bayonets of their guns to gleaming. Faces pressed to the glass, they
surveyed us stolidly, making sure that we were as our passes described
us. Long lines of marching men turned out to let us pass. As darkness
settled down, the location of the German line, as it encircled Ypres,
was plainly shown by floating _fusees_. In every hamlet reserves were
lining up for the trenches, dark masses of men, with here and there a
face thrown into relief as a match was held to light a cigarette. Open
doors showed warm, lamp-lit interiors and the glow of fires.

I sat back in the car and listened while the officers talked together.
They were speaking of General Joffre, of his great ability, of his
confidence in the outcome of the war, and of his method, during those
winter months when, with such steady fighting, there had been so
little apparent movement. One of the officers told me that General
Joffre had put his winter tactics in three words:

"I nibble t