The real daddies and big brothers and uncles of those seventy youngsters have been away from Saint Thiebault for a long time now--yes, this is the fourth Christmas that the urgent business in northern France has kept them from home. They may never return but that is unknown to the seventy young hopefuls. [Illustration: MARINES MARCHING DOWN THE AVENUE PRESIDENT WILSON ON THE FOURTH OF JULY IN PARIS] [Illustration: BRIDGE CROSSING MARNE RIVER IN CHATEAU-THIERRY DESTROYED BY GERMANS IN THEIR RETREAT FROM TOWN] There was great activity in the colonel's quarters during the morning, and it is said that a sleuthing seventy were intent on unveiling the mystery of these unusual American preparations. They stooped to get a peep through the windows of the room, and Private Larson, walking his post in front of the sacred precincts, had to shoo them away frequently with threatening gestures and Swedish-American-French commands, such as "Allay veet--Allay veet t'ell outer here." An energetic bawling from the headquarters cook shack indicated that one juvenile investigator had come to grief. Howls emanated from little Paul Laurent, who could be seen stumbling across the road, one blue, cold hand poking the tears out of his eyes and the other holding the seat of his breeches. Tony Moreno, the company cook, stood in front of the cook shack shaking a soup ladle after the departing Paul and shouting imprecations in Italian-American. "Tam leetle fool!" shouted Tony as he returned to the low camp stove and removed a hot pan, the surface of whose bubbling contents bore an unmistakable imprint. "Deese keeds make me seek. I catcha heem wit de finger in de sugar barrel. I shout at heem. He jumpa back. He fall over de stove and sita down in de pan of beans. He spoila de mess. He burn heese pants. Tam good!" And over there in front of the regimental wagon train picket line, a gesticulating trio is engaged in a three cornered Christmas discussion. One is M. Lecompte, who is the uniformed French interpreter on the Colonel's staff, and he is talking to "Big" Moriarity, the teamster, the tallest man in the regiment. The third party to the triangle is little Pierre Lafite, who clings to M. Lecompte's hand and looks up in awe at the huge Irish soldier. "He wants to borrow one of these," M. Lecompte says, pointing to the enormous hip boots which Moriarity is wearing. "He wants to borrow one of me boots?" repeated the Irishman. "And for the love of heavin, what would he be after doin' wid it? Sure and the top of it is higher than the head of him." "It is for this purpose," explains the interpreter. "The French children do not hang up their stockings for Christmas. Instead they place their wooden shoes on the hearth and the presents and sweets are put in them. You see, Pierre desires to receive a lot of things."