There have been a good many jobs for officers all day, so far, and only an hour or so for rest. But we have arranged for a sumptuous repast--roast duck and sausages and treacle pudding--at six o'clock, and the C.O. and Providence permitting, we shall all turn in before eight. We don't expect to move on from here till early the day after to-morrow, and shall have our transport with us by then. I gather we shall march all the way from here to the trenches; and really, you know, it's an excellent education for all of us in the conditions of the country. People at home don't realise what a big thing the domestic side of soldiering is. Our C.O. knew, of course, because he is an old campaigner. That's why, back there in England, he harried his officers as he did. We have to know all there is to know about the feet, boots, socks, food, cleanliness, and health of each one of our men, and it has been made part of our religion that an officer must never, never, never eat, sleep, or rest until he has personally seen to it that each man in his command is provided for in these respects. He has made it second nature to us, and since we reached France one has learned the wisdom of his teaching. I must clear out now--a pow-wow at Battalion Orderly Room: the village Ecole des Filles. The weather has completely changed. There's a thin, crisp coating of snow over everything, and it's clear and dry and cold. We're all rather tired, but fit as fleas, and awfully thankful to be getting so near the firing line. So make your mind quite easy about your "_Temporary Gentleman_." THE TALE OF A TUB If inclined to revile me for apparent neglect of you these last few days, be charitable and revile lightly. It's astonishing how full one's days are. And then when late evening arrives and arrangements for next morning are complete, and one's been the round of one's platoon billets and seen all in order for the night--then, instead of being free to write one's own letters, one must needs wade through scores written by the men of one's platoon, who--lucky beggars!--have three times the leisure we can ever get. Their letters must all be censored and initialed, you see. Rightly enough, I suppose, the military principle seems to be never to allow the private soldier to be burdened by any responsibility which an officer can possibly take. The giving away of military information in a letter, whether inadvertently or knowingly, is, of course, a serious offence. (German spies are everywhere.) When I have endorsed all my platoon's letters, the responsibility for their contents rests on my shoulders and the men run no risks. If I were an imitative bird now, you would find my letter reading something after this style: