ere are the farmer folk, too, gawking about at the show.

--And now, sitting on the ground near the bright lamp of the telegraph
table outside the Y. M. C. A. tent, while a dozen others crouch in the
radius of its rays, I am writing these last words. Night has fallen.
Inside the tent men are almost solidly crowded together on the floor as
they sit to write letters, while yet men in a steady stream step over and
among them, to get at the table stamps, pen and ink, and paper.

The day of course has been crowded pretty full. This morning at
Plattsburg the confusion in the company street was great. As we had to
make up our blanket rolls before breakfast we had to put our sweaters in
and shiver in our shirts. Packs were made up, tents were policed, cots
and mattresses handed in, and then we were off, as the advance guard of
an army camped at the post. But today's problem, though explained by map
to us at conference this afternoon, did not affect H company. Our
battalion was only the support; the first battalion carried on the
necessary skirmish that cleared the road of the cavalry, our opponents.
While they were chasing them far from the line of march, we plodded
safely along the macadam, and pitched tents before the others.

Concerning the hike, these facts. My feet are unblistered, though at one
rest, being panic-stricken, I hastily filled stockings and shoes with
foot-powder. At another time I found the pace telling on me, and was
sadly thinking that I was still too soft, when I heard grumbling all
about me. The step had been quickened, and all were feeling it. At the
grumbling Corder turned to me a face of relief. "Thank Heaven!" he said
piously. "I thought I was growing old." Our route was through the edge of
Plattsburg, along some miles of highway, and then by gravel roads to this
camp near Ryan's Grove, which is a fine sugar bush on the hillside below
us. After only eight miles of road, there were very few of us that were
not glad to get here.

Our system of serving food is curious. Each man has knife, fork, spoon,
canteen cup, and meat can. Falling into line at the bugle call (in no
order, every man for himself) the knife, fork and spoon are stuck into a
legging, and perhaps, until we reach the serving places, the canteen cup
is also carried there, by the handle. The meat-can is an oval sauce-pan
with a shallow top, over which shuts down its folding handle. Opening
this, one carries in one hand the can and cover, i