e hay,
So hurry, old girl. . . . But hark!"

Howl of a shell, harsh, sudden, dread;
Another . . . another. . . . "Strike me dead
If the Huns ain't strafing the road ahead
So the convoy can't get through!
A barrage of shrap, and us alone;
Four rush-cases--you hear 'em moan?
Fierce old messes of blood and bone. . . .
Priscilla, what shall we do?"

Again it seems that Priscilla hears.
With a rush and a roar her way she clears,
Straight at the hell of flame she steers,
Full at its heart of wrath.
Fury of death and dust and din!
Havoc and horror! She's in, she's in;
She's almost over, she'll win, she'll win!
_Woof! Crump!_ right in the path.

Little Priscilla skids and stops,
Jerry MacMullen sways and flops;
Bang in his map the crash he cops;
Shriek from the car: "Mon Dieu!"
One of the _blesses_ hears him say,
Just at the moment he faints away:
"Reckon this isn't my lucky day,
Priscilla, it's up to you."

Sergeant raps on the doctor's door;
"Car in the court with _couches_ four;
Driver dead on the dashboard floor;
Strange how the bunch got here."
"No," says the Doc, "this chap's alive;
But tell me, how could a man contrive
With both arms broken, a car to drive?
Thunder of God! it's queer."

Same little _blesse_ makes a spiel;
Says he: "When I saw our driver reel,
A Strange Shape leapt to the driving wheel
And sped us safe through the night."
But Jerry, he says in his drawling tone:
"Rats! Why, Priscilla came in on her own.
Bless her, she did it alone, alone. . . ."
_Hanged if I know who's right._

As I am sitting down to my midday meal an orderly gives me a telegram:

_Hill 71. Two couches. Send car at once._

The uptilted country-side is a checker-board of green and gray, and,
except where groves of trees rise like islands, cultivated to the last
acre. But as we near the firing-line all efforts to till the land cease,
and the ungathered beets of last year have grown to seed. Amid rank
unkempt fields I race over a road that is pitted with obus-holes; I pass
a line of guns painted like snakes, and drawn by horses dyed khaki-
color; then soldiers coming from the trenches, mud-caked and ineffably
weary; then a race over a bit of road that is exposed; then, buried in
the hill-side, the dressin