ith fresh
batches of candy ready to be pulled, which was seized by eager and
_clean_ hands, pulled and twisted until it was white, and consumed in
no time. I had had plenty of water heated and there was a tremendous
scrubbing of big calloused hands when some fellow "guessed he'd have a
try at it." We made more delicious candy than the battalion could eat,
and sent it round to the officers. Altogether the evening was voted a
hilarious success.

And the next day the Division began to entrain for Bordeaux. Not my
Battalion, but other Infantry Regiments, the Machine Gunners and the
Artillery. I left Pouillenay for three days and went to Epoisse, the
entraining point, to help serve cocoa and cakes to the departing
soldiers. The weather was abominable, a driving wet snow all the time
and we had to stand in it for hours. "We" were four girls. It was a
most exhausting business. I got back to Pouillenay rather the worse
for wear, but I couldn't stop on my last day with my boys, and I was
busy with a thousand things. I made fudge for my platoon and took it
to their billet in the evening. The good old tent had been taken down
in my absence and there was nothing left of the "Y". There in the dark
billet of the 1st Platoon of F Co. I had my last good time with my
boys. It was raining as usual. They received me with a cheer, and
when they saw the fudge, the cheer grew louder. We got up a Virginia
reel and how those boys swung me round! And when we were too hot to
dance more, we sang, until we were hoarse. And then I had to go, for
Lieut. J. of F Co. was giving a little party for the Major and I had
promised to be there with my guitar.

That last night was an uproarious one in Pouillenay. The estaminets
did their worst--it was their last chance at American francs--and way
into the morning the streets resounded with drunken yells. I fear the
majority were celebrating. I don't blame them. If the Y.M.C.A. had let
us keep our tent we might have planned a counter-drive, but as it was,
we could do nothing. That night, as I lay listening to the noise, I
became aware of a new sound. I couldn't believe my ears--but yes, I
had heard it once before in England--a nightingale! That piercing,
passionate, ecstatic song! It rang out between the shouts of the
revelers in the street below. How much more it seemed to say than
those drunken voices of men! and yet all that it says is through the
soul of man.

The day of departure dawned, warm and clou