already had duckweed growing.
Words are inadequate to express the horror and loneliness of that place
which seemed peopled only by the ghosts of those "Beloved soldiers, who
love rough life and breath, not less for dying faithful to the last."

We drove on to Hooge and turned near Geluvelt, making our way back
silently along that historic road which had been kept in repair by gangs
of workmen whose job it was to fill in the shell holes as fast as they
were made.

As we wound our way up the steep hill to Cassel with its narrow streets
and high, Spanish-looking houses, the sun was setting and the country
lay below us in a wonderful panorama. The cherry-trees bordering the
steep hill down the other side stood out like miniature snowstorms
against the blue haze of the evening. We got back to find the Saturday
evening hop in progress (life still seemed to be formed of paradoxes).
It was held in the mess hut, where the bumpy line down the middle of the
floor was appropriately called "Vimy Ridge," and the place where the
shell hole had been further up "Kennedy Crater." The floor was
exceedingly springy just there, but it takes a good deal to "cramp the
style" of a F.A.N.Y., and details of this sort only add to the general
enjoyment.

The next day I went down to the old convoy and saw my beloved "Susan"
again, apparently not one whit the worse for the valiant war work she
had done. Everything looked exactly the same, and to complete the
picture, as I arrived, I saw two F.A.N.Y.s quietly snaffling some horses
for a ride round the camp while their owners remained blissfully
unconscious in the mess. I felt things were indeed unchanged!

That evening I hunted out all my French friends. The old flower lady in
the Rue uttered a shriek, dropped her flowers, and embraced me again and
again. Then there was the _Pharmacie_ to visit, the paper man, the
pretty flapper, Monsieur and Madame from the "Omelette" Shop, and a host
of others. I also saw the French general. For a moment he was
puzzled--obviously he "knew the face but couldn't put a name to it,"
then his eye fell on the ribbon. "_Mon enfant_," was all he said, and
without any warning he opened his arms and I received a smacking kiss on
both cheeks! _Quel emotion!_ Everyone was so delighted, I felt the
burden of the last two years slipping off my shoulders.

Quite by chance I was put in my old original "cue." I counted the doors
up the passage. Yes, it must be the one, there co