the West, and that quickly. Got it, old bean?"

"Good old Blighty!" ejaculated Harold. "But they don't really believe all
that, do they, padre?"

"They do," said Peter. "And, to tell you the truth, I wondered if
I'd be over in time myself. Surely the Yanks must come in and make
a difference."

"This time next year, perhaps, though I doubt it. What do you think,
Scottie?"

"Oh, ask another! I'm sick of it. Say, skipper, what about that run out
into the forest you talked of?"

"Good enough. Would you care to go, padre? There's a wood-cuttin' crowd
out there, and I want to see 'em about firewood. There's a car possible
to-day, and we could all pack in."

"Count me out," said Jenks. "I'll have to toddle over and report. Sorry,
all the same."

"I'd love it," said Peter. "Besides, the A.C.G. said I was to look up
those people."

"Oh, well done. It isn't a joy-ride at all, then. Have another, padre,
and let's get off. No? Well, I will. How's yours, Scottie?"

Ten minutes later the three of them got into a big car and glided
smoothly off, first along the river, and then up a steep road into the
forest. Peter, fresh from London, lay back and enjoyed it immensely. He
had no idea Normandy boasted such woods, and the world looked very good
to him. It was all about as different from what he had imagined as it
could possibly have been. He just set himself to appreciate it.

The forest was largely fir and pine, and the sunlight glanced down the
straight trunks and patterned on the carpet beneath. Hollies gleamed
green against the brown background, and in an open space of bare beech
trees the littered ground was already pricked with the new green of the
wild hyacinth. Now and again the rounded hills gave glimpses of the far
Normandy plain across the serpentine river, then would as suddenly close
in on them again until the car seemed to dart between the advancing
battalions of the forest as though to escape capture. At length, in
one such place, they leaped forward up a short rise, then rushed
swiftly downhill, swung round a corner, and came out on what had
become all but a bare tableland, set high so that one could see
distant valleys--Boscherville, Duclair--and yet bare, for the timber
had been all but entirely cut down.

Five hundred yards along this road brought them to a small encampment.
There were some lines of Nysson huts, a canteen with an inverted triangle
for sign, some tents, great stacks of timber and of sma