gate of
the farm. Though not in Flanders, she was of the Flemish type,--bright
colouring, high cheek-bones, dark eyes. On these little social
occasions--they came all too rarely; that is why I always mention
them--there was much advantage in being only a corporal. Officers, even
Staff Officers, as they passed threw at us a look of admiration and
envy. A salute was cheap at the price.

In the afternoon there was a run, and when I returned I found that the
rest-camp rumour had been replaced by two others--either we were going
into action immediately a little farther along the line beyond Soissons,
or we were about to make a dash to Ostend for the purpose of outflanking
the Germans.

We moved again at dusk, and getting clear of the two brigades with H.Q.
rode rapidly twenty miles across country, passing over the road by which
we had advanced, to Longpont, a big dark chateau set in a wood and with
a French sentry at the gate. Our third brigade was trekking away into
the darkness as we came in. We slept in a large room on straw
mattresses--very comforting to the bones.

The morning was again gorgeous, and again we breakfasted late and well.
The chateau we discovered to be monumental, and beside it, set in a
beautiful garden, was a ruined chapel, where a service was held--the
first we had been able to attend since the beginning of the war.

Our host, an old man, thin and lithe, and dressed in shiny black, came
round during the day to see that we had all we needed. We heard a
tale--I do not know how true it was--that the Crown Prince had stayed at
the chateau. He had drunk much ancient and good wine, and what he had
not drunk he had taken away with him, together with some objects of art.
The chateau was full of good things.

During the day I had a magnificent run of forty miles over straight dry
roads to Hartennes, where, if you will remember, that great man,
Sergeant Croucher of the cyclists, had given us tea, and on to Chacrise
and Maast. It was the first long and open run I had had since the days
of the retreat, when starting from La Pommeraye I had ridden through the
forest to Compiegne in search of the Divisional Train.

Just after I had returned we started off again--at dusk. I was sent
round to a place, the name of which I cannot remember, to a certain
division; then I struck north along a straight road through the forest
to Villers-Cotterets. The town was crammed with French motor-lorries and
crowded with French