e of the red lights from
the works, looked most ferocious. The slender, flashing French
bayonets seemed to be at least three feet long.

As we waited to be identified, a British sergeant lounged forward, a
little the worse for beer, and nodded cordially as he leaned
carelessly on the front door and explained all about the bombs. At a
word from him the Frenchmen fell back, and we moved on. Every house
seemed to have a soldier on guard, but we were not questioned further,
and drove peacefully home along the canal, whose iris-decked banks
were perfectly reflected in its glassy waters in the brilliant
moonlight.

Again I changed my billet by the bridge to live at a fine old house
farther up the river. It had a beautiful old garden which was
separated from the street by a high iron fence on a brick foundation.
Walnut trees from the garden overhung the street and shaded a little
octagonal summer house. The old-fashioned, square, red brick house
faced the lawn, in the centre of which was an elongated brick-lined
pool of water with a bridge over it. In the centre of the lawn was a
large polished silver ball on a pedestal; this was regarded as a fine
ornament. The lawn was separated from the garden by a high hedge. The
garden proper, a real old-fashioned one, containing many berry bushes,
fruit trees, and a few old-fashioned flowers, ran right back to the
river. A brick boundary wall kept the river from washing away the
banks, and brick steps led down to a little floating platform. There
was much shade in that old French garden; it was the most peaceful and
restful place that I ever found in France. Even aeroplanes sailing
overhead on their missions of destruction seemed from my garden to be
harmless.

I always took my French lesson there after dinner, when the bees
droned about and one had an irresistible desire to sleep. My teacher,
Professor Paul Balbaud, had been a lecturer in Toronto University, and
at this time was drawing the magnificent sum of one cent a day as a
private in the French 77th territorial regiment. On one occasion he
presented me with ten days' pay which he had received that very
morning, and I had the two five-sou silver pieces made into watch
charms. Monsieur Balbaud was engaged in the telegraph service, and was
an excellent teacher. Later on that year the pay of the French soldier
was raised to five cents a day.

Madam Carre, a dear old lady, owned the house and she was kindness
itself. Nothing was