ere came a priest, who was a sub-lieutenant, out of a
wood of snuff-brown shadows and half-veiled trunks. Would it
please me to look at a chapel? It was all open to the
hillside, most tenderly and devoutly done in rustic work with
reedings of peeled branches and panels of moss and thatch--St.
Hubert's own shrine. I saw the hunters who passed before it,
going to the chase on the far side of the mountain where their
game lay.

. . . . . . .

A BOMBARDED TOWN

Alan carried me off to tea the same evening in a town where he
seemed to know everybody. He had spent the afternoon on
another mountain top, inspecting gun positions; whereby he had
been shelled a little--_marmite_ is the slang for it. There
had been no serious _marmitage,_ and he had spotted a Boche
position which was _marmitable._

"And we may get shelled now," he added, hopefully. "They
shell this town whenever they think of it. Perhaps they'll
shell us at tea."

It was a quaintly beautiful little place, with its mixture of
French and German ideas; its old bridge and gentle-minded
river, between the cultivated hills. The sand-bagged cellar
doors, the ruined houses, and the holes in the pavement looked
as unreal as the violences of a cinema against that soft and
simple setting. The people were abroad in the streets, and
the little children were playing. A big shell gives notice
enough for one to get to shelter, if the shelter is near
enough. That appears to be as much as any one expects in the
world where one is shelled, and that world has settled down to
it. People's lips are a little firmer, the modelling of the
brows is a little more pronounced, and, maybe, there is a
change in the expression of the eyes; but nothing that a
casual afternoon caller need particularly notice.

CASES FOR HOSPITAL

The house where we took tea was the "big house" of the place,
old and massive, a treasure house of ancient furniture. It
had everything that the moderate heart of man could desire
--gardens, garages, outbuildings, and the air of peace that goes
with beauty in age. It stood over a high cellarage, and
opposite the cellar door was a brand-new blindage of earth
packed between timbers. The cellar was a hospital, with its
beds and stores, and under the electric light the orderly
waited ready for the cases to be carried down out of the
streets.

"Yes, they are all civil cases," said he.

They come without much warning--a woman gas