wo men
on earth there will always be the chance of a fight.

Thus far February has been a droll month. I have seen Februaries in
France which have been spring-like, with the chestnut trees in bud,
and the primroses in flower, and lilacs in leaf. This February has been
a strange mixture of spring awkwardly slipping out of the lap of winter
and climbing back again. There have been days when the sun was
so warm that I could drive without a rug, and found furs a burden;
there have been wonderful moonlit nights; but the most of the time,
so far, it has been nasty. On warm days flowers began to sprout and
the buds on the fruit-trees to swell. That made Pere sigh and talk
about the lune rousse. We have had days of wind and rain which be-
longed in a correct March. I am beginning to realize that the life of a
farmer is a life of anxiety. If I can take Pere's word for it, it is always
cold when it should not be; the hot wave never arrives at the right
moment; when it should be dry it rains; and when the earth needs
water the rain refuses to fall. In fact, on his testimony, I am convinced
that the weather is never just right, except to the mere lover of nature,
who has nothing to lose and nothing to gain by its caprices.

The strange thing is that we all stand it so well. If anyone had told me
that I could have put up with the life I have been living for two winters
and be none the worse for it, I should have thought him heartless.
Yet, like the army, I am surely none the worse for it, and, in the army,
many of the men are better for it. The youngsters who come home on
leave are as rugged as possible. They have straightened up and
broadened their chests. Even the middle-aged are stronger. There is
a man here who is a master mason, a hard-working, ambitious,
honest chap, very much loved in the commune. He worked on my
house, so I know him well. Before the war he was very delicate. He
had chronic indigestion, and constantly recurring sore throats. He
was pale, and his back was beginning to get round. As he has five
children, he is in an ammunition factory. He was home the other day.
I asked him about his health, he looked so rosy, so erect, and strong.
He laughed, and replied: "Never so well in my life. I haven't had a
cold this winter, and I sleep in a board shanty and have no fire, and I
eat in a place so cold my food is chilled before I can swallow it. My
indigestion is a thing of the past. I could digest nails!"

You see I a