On Easter morning an open air memorial service had been planned in honor of those in the Battalion who had been killed. The day was beautiful. The Battalion assembled in a beautiful little field on the outskirts of the town, the four companies drawn up facing each other. The choir, which I had drilled, composed of about twenty men, stood together. A platform had been built in the centre, from which Major S., always fine, gave a splendid short address. The chaplain then delivered a sermon, less impressive. The choir sang "Rock of Ages," which was quite solemnly beautiful. Next the roll was called, which was astonishingly long. It was a strain on those standing ranks of boys to hear the names of their dead comrades, and the tears were coursing down many cheeks. The choir sang "My Faith Looks Up To Thee." Taps were sounded, followed by a roll of drums. There was a moment of tense silence. Then to the relief of all, the little Battalion Band struck up a quickstep and the Companies marched off cheerily. It was truly a beautiful service, and the warm sun and birds warbling in the trees gave it an added sweetness. It meant a great deal to the men. After the service I walked back to the tent with the Colonel and the Major, who came in and admired my decorations as much as I could wish. In the afternoon was a thrilling baseball game between our Battalion and the 1st Battalion of the 312th Infantry. (Baseball has been our great amusement of late.) I slipped away before it was over to get my kettle boiling, so that afterward I had hot chocolate and cakes for all the boys that wanted it; it never has to go begging. In the evening we gathered round the poor rheumatic piano and sang and sang till old Mathieu, the electrician, turned the lights off. Now doesn't that sound like a happy Easter? Meanwhile preparations for moving were going on. All the stoves were taken from the billets and of course the weather turned cold and rainy again. We froze, and we waded in mud, but we didn't care; we were "going home."