ain has been gathered the graves, stand out distinctly
marked not only by a cross, but also by the tall bunches of corn
which have been left growing on these small patches of holy
ground. It has always been said that France has two harvests
each year. Certainly in the fields of the Marne there is not only the
harvest of bread; there is also springing up the harvest of security
and peace.

The peasants as they point out the graves always add: "We of the
people know that those men sacrificed their lives that our children
might live. Those who have died in vain for an unjust cause may
well envy the men of France who have poured out their blood for
the benefit of humanity."

Looking on the crosses on the battlefield of the Marne, I realised to
the fullest extent the sacrifices, borne with such bravery, of the
women of France. I thought of the picture I had seen in Paris of a
group of mothers standing at the foot of Calvary, looking out over
the fields of small black crosses, lifting their hands to Heaven, with
the words: "We also, God, have given our sons for the peace of
the world."

At Montmirail the real activity of the war zone first became
apparent. We drew the car to the side of the road and waited
whilst a long procession of empty munition wagons passed on the
way back from the munition parks near the fighting line. There was
a smile on the face of every one of the drivers. Each of them had
the satisfaction of knowing that there was no chance of his
returning with an empty wagon, as there is no lack of provisions to
feed the hungriest of the "75's" or any of her larger sisters.

The fact that it is known that there is an ample supply of munitions
plays an important part in the "morale" of the troops. The average
Poilu has no sympathy with the man who grumbles at the number
of hours he may have to spend in the factory. We heard the tale of
a munition worker who was complaining in a cafe at having to work
so hard. A Poilu who was en permission, and who was sitting at
the next table, turned to him saying: "You have no right to grumble.
You receive ten to twelve francs a day for making shells and we
poor devils get five sous a day for stopping them!"

Recruiting Rat-Catchers

We lunched in the small but hospitable village of Sezannes in
company with a most charming invalided officer, who informed us
that he was the principal in that district of the S.D.R. R.D. (Service
de Recherche des Rattiers) (the P