ly, out of brown eyes, and one is able to go on
again.

_La Panne. 27 February_.--I have been staying for three nights at the
Kursaal Hotel, but my room was wanted and I had to turn out, so I packed
my things and came down to the Villa les Chrysanthemes, and shared Mrs.
Clitheroe's room for a night. In the morning all our party packed up and
left to go to Furnes, and I took on these rooms. I may be turned out any
minute for "le militaire," but meanwhile I am very comfortable.

The heroic element (a real thing among us) takes queer forms sometimes.
"No sheets, of course," is what one hears on every side, and to eat a
meal standing and with dirty hands is to "play the game." Maxine Elliott
said, "The nervous exhaustion attendant upon discomfort hinders work,"
and she "does herself" very well, as also do all the men of the regular
forces. But volunteer corps--especially women--are heroically bent on
being uncomfortable. In a way they like it, and they eat strange meals
in large quantities, and feel that this is war.

Lord Leigh took me into Dunkirk in his car to-day, and I managed to get
lots of vegetables for the soup-kitchen, and several other things I
wanted. A lift is everything at this time, when one can "command"
nothing. If one might for once feel that by paying a fare, however high,
one could ensure having something--a railway journey, a motor-car, or
even a bed! My work isn't so heavy at the kitchen now, and the hours are
not so long, so I hope to do some work of a literary nature.

* * * * *

[Page Heading: LA PANNE]

_To Miss Macnaughtan's Sisters._

VILLA LES CHRYSANTHEMES
LA PANNE, BELGIUM,
_Sunday, 28 February._

MY DEAR FAMILY,

It is so long since I wrote a decently long letter that I think I must
write to you all, to thank you for yours, and to give you what news
there is of myself.

Of war news there is none. The long war is now a long wait, and the huge
expense still goes on, while we lock horns with our foes and just sway
backwards and forwards a little, and this, as you know, we have done for
weeks past. Every day at the station there is a little stream of men
with heads or limbs bandaged, and our work goes on as before, although
it is not on quite the same lines now. I used to make every drop of the
soup myself, and give it out all down the train. Now we have a
receiving-room for the wounded, where they stay all day, and we feed
them four times, and then th