the air; but most of them smiling. Miss P. and I decided that the
greatest evidence of the terrible strain of war was in the expression
of people on the street. No one ever smiled. Faces were dull and
joyless. Clothes were old. Shoes were shapeless and soggy. Every one
seemed hopeless rather than actively sorrowful. And in the keen,
blonde faces of the men one sees about Whitehall, the men on the
inside of affairs, there was a far-away, set, determined expression.

We had arrived in London on New Year's day, Wednesday, and were to
leave on Sunday. Sunday afternoon we were all taken to South Hampton
and after interminable business at the customs house we boarded a
channel boat for Havre. A smooth passage. At 5.45 a.m. I looked out of
the porthole and there was the shore of France, all black, with little
lights twinkling and a great white searchlight flashing back and forth
over the water. After breakfast, when we went up on deck, the sky was
rosy with the approaching sunrise, and suddenly in a burst of glory
the sun came out of a golden cloud and warmed us all! It was an
indescribably beautiful scene. The masts of many ships and all the
ropes and rigging against the glowing pink clouds in the sky, the
beloved bustle of a harbor, the French language, the smiling French
faces, the excitement of arrival at dawn, all made us happy, and I,
for one, loved France with all my heart at that moment. We were
gathered on the wharf for some time, where we watched red-capped
German prisoners unloading our trunks from the ship. Then, in rows of
fours, we were marched up through the muddy streets to the Y.M.C.A.
headquarters. There we were given a good, direct talk by the man in
charge and were again marched off for an early luncheon. My admiration
for the Y.M.C.A. is rising continually. I am proud and thrilled to be
a part of it. I am glad I came.

"Premiere Classe" coaches were reserved for us on our trip to Paris.
We left Havre at noon, closely packed into our compartments. Such
wonderful country as we went through! We stopped at Rouen and had fine
views of the Cathedral, the excited "Y" girls running from one side of
the car to the other in their effort to miss nothing. In the Rouen
station a fine old lady was giving coffee at a Red Cross canteen. A
continuous stream of soldiers in blue came up to her booth. I saw one
greenish-coated Italian soldier step up and order coffee just as a
French soldier was beginning his. The two chink