ong, white, immaculate dress, and
a gossamer shawl, and pinned upon him a gold pin. She set the table in
the convent--the cake in the center of the table, with one candle, and
snowy blossoms from a plum tree.

Then the party started for the church: fifteen-year-old Rene, the
Belgian boy scout who was to serve as godfather, giggling; the
apple-cheeked Flemish girl carrying "Pervyse"; Hilda and Hinchcliffe
closely following. They walked through the village street past laughing
soldiers who called out, "_Les Anglais!_" They entered the church
through the left door. A puff of damp air blew into their faces. In the
chancel stood a stack of soldiers' bicycles. They kneeled and waited for
the Cure. In the nave, old peasant women were nodding and dipping, and
telling their beads. The nurse handed the baby to Hilda. Rene giggled.
Three small children wandered near and stared. On the right side of the
church was heaped a bundle of straw, and three rosy soldiers emerged who
had been sleeping there. They winked at the pretty Flemish nurse. The
church for them was a resting-place, between trench service.

The old Cure entered with his young assistant. The youth was dudish,
with a business suit, and a very high, straight collar that struck his
chin. The Cure was in long, black robes, with skirts--a yellow man,
gray-haired, his mouth a thin, straight slit, almost toothless. His
eyebrows turned up, as if the face were being pulled. His heavy ears lay
back against his head, large wads of cotton-wool in them. He talked with
the nurse, inquiring for the baby's name. There were a half-dozen names
for the mite--family names of father and mother, so that there might be
a survival of lines once so numerous. Rene's name, too, was affixed. The
Cure wrote the names down on a slip of paper, and inserted it in his
prayer-book. The service proceeded in Latin and Flemish.

Then "Pervyse" was carried, behind the bicycles, to a small room, with
the font. Holy water was poured into a bowl. The old priest, muttering,
put his thumb into the water, and then behind each ear of the baby, and
at the nape of the neck. At the touch on the neck "Pervyse" howled. The
priest's hand shook, so that he jabbed the wrong place, and repeated the
stroke. Then the thumb was dipped again, and crossed on the forehead,
then touched on the nose and eyes and chin. Between the dippings, the
aged man read from his book, and the assistant responded. To
Hinchcliffe, standing at