and, as is right, it is pure white flour bread, such as no civilian knows nowadays. One motors through scores of villages and more, and every little old French spot swarms with American Tommies billeted in cottages and farmhouses. Many of them marched straight to their billets from their landing port, and the experience is as wonderful for them, just spirited over from the wilds of America, as it is for the villagers who welcome these almost fabulous allies. But it is the engineering, building, and machinery works the Americans are putting up which are the most astonishing. Gangs of workers have come over in thousands. Many of these young chaps are college men, Harvard or Princeton graduates. They dig and toil as efficiently as any laborer, and perhaps with more zeal. One American Major told me with glee how a party of these young workers arrived straight from America at 3:30 P. M., and started digging at 5 A. M. next morning. "And they liked it; it tickled them to death." Many of these drafts, in fact, were sick and tired of inaction in ports before their departure from America, and they welcomed work in France as if it were some great game. Perhaps the biggest work of all the Americans are doing is a certain aviation camp and school. In a few months it has neared completion, and when it is finished it will, I believe, be the biggest of its kind in the world. There pilots are trained, and trained in numbers which I may not say, but which are comforting. The number of airplanes they use merely for training, which also I must not state, is in itself remarkable. "Training pilots is the one essential thing," I was told by the C.O. These flying men--or boys--who have, of course, already been broken in in America, do an additional course in France, and when they leave the aviation camp I saw they are absolutely ready for air fighting at the front. This is the finishing school. The aviators go through eight distinct courses in this school. They are perfected in flying, in observation, in bombing, in machine-gun firing. On even a cloudy and windy day the air overhead buzzes with these young American fliers, all getting into the pink of condition to do their stunts at the front. They seemed to me as keen as our own flying men, and as well disciplined. They live in the camp, and it requires moving heaven and earth for one of them to get leave to go even to the nearest little quiet old town.