, and
looking down on the ruffled blue waters of the moat I saw a great white
swan at his morning toilet, his feathers dazzling in the sun. It was one
of those rare crisp and sparkling days that remind one of our American
autumn. A green stretch of lawn made a vista through the woods.
Following the example of the swan, I plunged into the tin tub the
orderly had placed beside my bed and went down to porridge in a glow.
Porridge, for the major was Scotch, and had taught his French cook to
make it as the Scotch make it. Then, going out into the hall, from a
table on which lay a contour map of the battle region, the major picked
up a hideous mask that seemed to have been made for some barbaric
revelries.

"We may not strike any gas," he said, "but it's as well to be on the
safe side," whereupon he made me practise inserting the tube in my
mouth, pinching the nostrils instantly with the wire-covered nippers.
He also presented me with a steel helmet. Thus equipped for any untoward
occurrence, putting on sweaters and heavy overcoats, and wrapping
ourselves in the fur rugs of the waiting automobile, we started off,
with the gale on our quarter, for the front.

Picardy, on whose soil has been shed so much English blood, never was
more beautiful than on that October day. The trees were still in full
leaf, the fields green, though the crops had been gathered, and the
crystal air gave vivid value to every colour in the landscape. From time
to time we wound through the cobble-stoned streets of historic villages,
each having its stone church end the bodki-shaped steeple of blue slate
so characteristic of that country. And, as though we were still in
the pastoral times of peace, in the square of one of these villages a
horse-fair was in progress, blue-smocked peasants were trotting
chunky ponies over the stones. It was like a picture from one of De
Maupassant's tales. In other villages the shawled women sat knitting
behind piles of beets and cabbages and apples, their farm-carts atilt in
the sun. Again and again I tried to grasp the fact that the greatest of
world wars was being fought only a few miles away--and failed.

We had met, indeed, an occasional officer or orderly, huddled in a
greatcoat and head against the wind, exercising those wonderful animals
that are the pride of the British cavalry and which General Sir Douglas
Haig, himself a cavalryman, some day hopes to bring into service. We
had overtaken an artillery train rum