had not dampened
her sense of humor even if it had destroyed her trade for that night.

[Illustration: The air-raid had not dampened her sense of humor.]

Another story illustrative of the never-die spirit of the Frenchwomen,
in spite of their sorrows and losses: One night, when the rain was
pouring in torrents, a desolate, chilly night, I saw a girl of the
streets plying her trade, standing where the rain had soaked her
through and through. Were her spirits dampened? Was she discouraged?
Was she blue? No; she stood there in the rain humming the air of an
opera, oblivious to the fact that she was soaked through and through,
and cold to the bone.

This is the undying spirit of France. I do not know whether this girl
was driven to her trade because she had lost her husband in the war,
but I do know that many have been. I do not know anything about her
life. I do know that there she stood, soaked through and through, a
frail child of the street, plying her trade, and singing in the rain.
The silhouette of this frail girl and her spirit is typical of France:
"Her head though bloody is unbowed." Somehow that sight gave me
strength.

The reaction of the German submarining in American waters on the boys
"Over There" will be interesting to home-folks. When the news got to
France that submarines were plying in American waters near New York,
did it produce consternation? No! Did it produce regret? No! Did it
make them mad? No!

It made them laugh. All over France the boys laughed, and laughed;
laughed uproariously; doubled up and laughed. I found this everywhere.
I do not attempt to explain it. It just struck their funny bones. I
heard one fellow say: "Now the next best thing would be for a sub some
night, when there was nobody in the offices, to throw a few shells into
one of those New York skyscrapers."

"I'll say so! I'll say so!" was the laughing reply.

"Wow! There'd be somethin' doin' at home then, wouldn't there?" my
friend the artillery captain said with a grin.

But about the funniest thing I heard along the sunshine-producing line
was not in France but coming home from France, on the transport. It
came from a prisoner on the transport who was sentenced to fifteen
years for striking a top-sergeant.

One night outside of my stateroom I heard some words, and then a blow
struck, and a man fall. There was a general commotion.

The next morning the fellow who struck the blow was summoned befor