he war. After the Germans marched in, it had to hold ten
thousand. But a little more room in the houses was thriftily obtained by
annexing all the furniture, even beds. Tables and chairs they took, too,
and stoves, and cooking utensils, which left the houses conveniently
empty, to be shared by families from Roye, and Nesle, and Ham, and
Chauny--oh, so many other towns and hamlets, that one loses count in
trying to remember!

How the people lived, they hardly know now, in looking back, some of
them told us, as we walked about with a French officer who was our
guide. Eighteen months of it! Summer wasn't quite so bad. One can always
bear hardships when weather, at least, is kind. But the winters! It is
those winters that scarcely bear thinking of, even now.

No lights were allowed after dark. All doors must be left open, for the
German military police to walk in at any hour of the night, to see what
mischief was brewing in the happy families caged together. There was no
heating, and often no fire for cooking, consequently such food as there
was had to be eaten cold. No nose must be shown out of doors unless with
a special permit, so to speak, displayed on the end of it. Not that
there was much incentive to go out, as all business was stopped, and all
shops closed. Without "_le Comite Americain_," thousands would have
starved, so it was lucky for Noyon that the United States was neutral
then!

We spent hours seeing things, and talking to people--old people, and
children, and soldiers--each one with a new side of the great story to
tell, as if each had been weaving a few inches of some wonderful,
historic piece of tapestry, small in itself, but essential to the
pattern. Then we started for home--I mean Compiegne--by a different way;
the way of Carlepont, named after Charlemagne, because it is supposed
that he was born there.

The forest was even more lovable than before, a younger forest:
fairy-like in beauty as a rainbow, in its splashed gold and red, and
green and violet and orange of autumn. The violet was "atmosphere," but
it was as much a part of the forest as the leaves, or the delicate
trunks dim as ghosts in shadow, bright as organ-pipes where sun touched
them. Out from the depths came sweet, mysterious breaths, and whispers
like prophecies of peace. But to this region of romance there were sharp
contrasts. Not even dreams have sharper ones! German trenches, chopped
into blackened wastes that once were farmlands,