e, even if he is only twenty. He whistled gently, put up his
hand to stop the men from running, and walked quietly into the road,
still whistling. Five of the horses, tossing their heads, were thundering
on towards the canal. The span, dragging the long pole, swerved on
the turn, and swung the pole, which was so long that it caught on the
bank. I expected to see them tangle themselves all up, what with the
pole and the halters. Not a bit of it. They stopped, panting, and still
trying to toss their heads, and the Aspirant quietly picked up a halter,
and passed the horses over to the men, saying, in a most nonchalant
manner: "Fasten that pole more securely. Some of you go quietly
down the hill. You'll meet them coming back," and he returned to the
garden, and resumed the conversation just where it had been
interrupted.

It had been a lively picture to me, but to the soldiers, I suppose, it had
only been an every day's occurrence.

My only fear had been that there might be children or a wagon on the
winding road. Luckily the way was clear.

An hour later, the men returned, leading the horses. They had
galloped down to the river, and returned by way of Voisins, where
they had stopped right in front of the house where the Captain was
quartered, and the Captain had been in the garden and seen them.

This time the Aspirant had to laugh. He slapped one of the horses
caressingly on the nose as he said: "You devils! Couldn't you go on a
lark without telling the Captain about it, and getting us all into
trouble?"

To make this all the funnier, that very night three horses stabled in a
rickety barn at Voisins, kicked their door down, and pranced and
neighed under the Captain's bedroom window.

The Captain is a nice chap, but he is not in his first youth, and he is
tired, and, well--he is a bit nervous. He said little, but that was to the
point. It was only: "You boys will see that these things don't happen,
or you will sleep in the straw behind your horses."

This is the first time that I have seen anything of the military
organization, and I am filled with admiration for it. I don't know how it
works behind the trenches, but here, in the cantonnement, I could set
my clocks by the soup wagon--a neat little cart, drawn by two sturdy
little horses, which takes the hill at a fine gallop, and passes my gate
at exactly twenty-five minutes past eleven, and twenty-five minutes
past five every day. The men wait, with their gamelles