ince the war started; she had
not seen him for eight whole months. What happiness would be hers when
he returned! She waved her hand to us as she went off, tripping
lightly across the roadway and disappearing into the _cafe_. She was
going to church presently; it was Holy Week when the Virgin listened
to special intercessors, and the good matron of the _cafe_ prayed
hourly for the safety of her soldier boy.

At ten o'clock we went to chapel, our pipers playing _The Wearing of
the Green_ as we marched along the crooked village streets, our rifles
on our shoulders and our bandoliers heavy with the ball cartridge
which we carried. The rifle is with us always now, on parade, on
march, in _cafe_, billet, and church; our "best friend" is our eternal
companion. We carried it into the church and fastened the sling to the
chair as we knelt in prayer before the altar. We occupied the larger
part of the building, only three able-bodied men in civilian clothing
were in attendance.

The youth of the country were out in the trenches, and even here (p. 040)
in the quiet little chapel with its crucifixes, images, and pictures,
there was the suggestion of war in the collection boxes for wounded
soldiers, in the crepe worn by so many women; one in every ten was in
mourning, and above all in the general air of resignation which showed
on all the faces of the native worshippers.

The whole place breathed war, not in the splendid whirlwind rush of
men mad in the wild enthusiasm of battle, but in silent yearning,
heartfelt sorrow, and great bravery, the bravery of women who remain
at home. Opposite us sat the lady of the _cafe_, her head low down on
her breast, and the rosary slipping bead by bead through her fingers.
Now and again she would stir slightly, raise her eyes to the Virgin on
the right of the high altar, and move her lips in prayer, then she
would lower her head again and continue her rosary.

As far as I could ascertain singing in church was the sole privilege
of the choir, none of the congregation joined in the hymns. But to-day
the church had a new congregation--the soldiers from England, the men
who sing in the trenches, in the billet, and on the march; the men who
glory in song on the last lap of a long, killing journey in full (p. 041)
marching order. To-day they sang a hymn well-known and loved, the
clarion call of their faith was started by the choir. As one man the
soldiers joined in the singing, and their voices