ral lecture that I received
from an old peasant woman who met our cart on the high-road just before
we turned off into the Bois du Loup.

Night, black and starless, was upon us before we had penetrated half a
mile into the woods. My youthful companion began to sing martial airs,
and stimulated his courage by beating time with his feet on the bottom
of the cart. A chill Autumn rain commenced to fall, tinkling against
the rare leaves that now remained on the trees, blinding both horse and
driver, and greatly impeding our progress. Presently I noticed that
our lantern had gone out, and fearing lest we be borne down upon by
some swift moving army truck, I produced a pocket lamp and descended
from my seat.

A handful of damp matches, much time and good humour were consumed ere
I succeeded in getting a light, and just as I swung the lantern back
into place, the air was pierced by a high-pitched, blood-curdling
shriek!

_Le Loup_ . . . !

At the same moment there was a sharp crackling on the opposite side of
the road, and an instant later a wild boar, followed by her young,
brushed past me and darted into the obscurity.

My companion was livid. His teeth chattered audibly. He tried to pull
himself together and murmured incoherent syllables. Personally, I was
a bit unnerved, yet somewhat reassured. If my eyes had not deceived
me, the mystery of the _Loup-garou_ was now solved. And yet I felt
quite sure that wild boar were unknown in our region.

At Chateau-Thierry I made enquiries and from soldiers and foresters
learned that heretofore inhabitants of the Ardennes forest, these
animals had been driven South when man had chosen to make the firing
line of their haunts; and that, prolific breeders, they were now
practically a menace to the unarmed civilian. From these same lovers
of nature I gathered that for the first time in their recollection
sea-gulls and curlews had likewise been seen on the banks of the Marne.

While the country now abounds in newcomers, many of the old familiar
birds and animals are rapidly disappearing.

Larks are rare visitors these days, and the thrush which used to hover
over our vineyards in real flocks, have almost entirely vanished. The
swallows, however, are our faithful friends and have never failed to
return to us.

Each succeeding Spring their old haunts are in a more or less
dilapidated condition according to the number of successful visits the
German aviators have chosen to