is
absolutely our own stupidity."

"Well," I explained to him, "I fancy I can tell you where they are
hiding. I told Captain Simpson so last night." And I explained to him
that horses had been heard in the woods at the foot of the hill since
Tuesday; that there was a cart road, rough and winding, running in
toward Conde for over two miles; that it was absolutely screened by
trees, had plenty of water, and not a house in it,--a shelter for a
regiment of cavalry. And I had the impertinence to suggest that if the
picket had been extended to the road below it would have been impossible
for the Germans to have got into Voisins.

"Not enough of us," he replied. "We are guarding a wide territory, and
cannot put our pickets out of sight of one another." Then he explained
that, as far as he knew from his aeroplane men, the detachment had
broken up since it was first discovered on this side of the Marne. It
was reported that there were only about twenty-four in this vicinity;
that they were believed to be without ammunition; and then he dropped
the subject, and I did not bother him with questions that were bristling
in my mind.

He told me how sad it was to see the ruin of the beautiful country
through which they had passed, and what a mistake it had been from his
point of view not to have foreseen the methods of Germans and drummed
out all the towns through which the armies had passed. He told me one
or two touching and interesting stories. One was of the day before a
battle, I think it was Saint-Quentin. The officers had been invited to
dine at a pretty chateau near which they had bivouacked. The French
family could not do too much for them, and the daughters of the house
waited on the table. Almost before the meal was finished the alerte
sounded, and the battle was on them. When they retreated by the house
where they had been so prettily entertained such a few hours before,
there was not one stone standing on another, and what became of the
family he had no idea.

The other that I remember was of the way the Germans passed the river at
Saint-Quentin and forced the battle at La Fere on them. The bridge was
mined, and the captain was standing beside the engineer waiting to give
the order to touch off the mine. It was a nasty night--a Sunday (only
last Sunday, think of that!)--and the rain was coming down in torrents.
Just before the Germans reached the bridge he ordered it blown up. The
engineer touched the but