the shrewd old French ladies tit for tat, which delighted them.

Now I am back in Chaumont working in the library of the "Y." It is a
temporary job. I have half an idea I shall be homeward bound soon.

Goodbye dear family. This pen will drive me distracted, and they cost
ten dollars over here!

June 25th.
Officers' Hut, Chaumont.

Another change of job. From buck privates to elderly majors and
lieutenant colonels! About a week ago I was assigned to the Officers'
Hut at Chaumont. This has been, naturally, the largest and pleasantest
officers' "Y" in France, but owing to the daily diminishing of the
personnel at G.H.Q. the business of the "Y" is rapidly falling off. I
was sent here principally on account of my knowledge of French. Ahem!
There is a large restaurant and a French force employed, and I am the
medium of communication with them. I manage to keep the peace by
translating the orders diplomatically, softening them and _politening_
them.

There are many pleasant aspects to this work. I enjoy very much being
with cultivated people again, though my fondness for the expressive
doughboy is as great as ever. After all, there is something
comfortable about good grammar, and I confess that a conversation with
a dash of high-browism contains a pleasure all its own.

The first day I was here I met Colonel MacC. of Chicago. He has been
very kind to me. Sunday evening he took me to call on some French
friends of his and we had a very delightful time.

The atmosphere of Chaumont is totally different from that of dear
little Pouillenay. There are many American girls, Red Cross, Y.M.C.A.
and Y.W.C.A., and giddy telephone girls. Every night there is a party
at the chateau and much gaiety. The boys here certainly have a great
deal of entertainment. The social pace is too much for me. I get out
of things as much as I can without being too rude. It won't last much
more than a week anyway, and then I shall be ready and glad to come
home.

Peace has come! "Le jour de gloire est arrive." Early yesterday
morning, I was awakened by the strains of a band approaching nearer
and nearer. It didn't sound like an American band, and I jumped out of
bed to see what it was. There in the early grayness of morning French
soldiers were marching to a band composed of bugles and drums. They
marched seriously, with rifles over their shoulders and bayonets
f