Most of the French and Belgians told me (though some voiced suspicions to the contrary) that the Germans saw to it strictly that none of their soldiers took the relief goods sent from America. One old lady told me that she had proof that all Germans were robbers; for they give her some patched clothing as coming from America and she knew that nobody in America would send over such stuff as that. It was hard to have to choose between being just and being loyal American. I refuse to state which attitude I took, but I am afraid that the dear old lady still thinks she has an argument to prove that the Boches are robbers. At any rate, the older griefs of these people are for the soldiers who have come through an intense war experience, echoes of “Old unhappy far-off things, and battles long ago.” They judge the German soldier by their own experience and by soldier standards. They do not fear him, they do not hate him, they do not despise him either. They respected him when he put up a good fight or made a clean getaway, and that was most of the time. It was a rare thing to hear a soldier in a combat division talk about “Huns.” It was always the “Heinies,” the “Jerries,” the “Boches” or, simply the “Germans.” The fine spirit on the part of our troops was much better, even for military value, than hatred would have been. I cannot see that deep bitterness could have made them any bolder. It would only have made them less efficient. And the spirit is admirable in itself. At any rate we were convinced from the beginning that our experiences as part of the army of occupation were not going to be as unpleasant as we expected. Aside from the attitude of the people the things that strike us most are two. Putting the two into one, it is the number and the fatness of the children. There are few children on the streets in French villages; German villages swarm with youngsters. Our coming is like circus day and they are all out, especially the boys. Boys everywhere! And such sturdy little towheads—chubby is the word for the smaller ones. I do not know about the rest of Germany, but the Rhineland is certainly not starved. Perhaps, as in Belgium, it is the townspeople who do the suffering. These children wear patched clothing, but the clothing covers rounded bodies. We find it easy to purchase meals at rates that are astoundingly reasonable after our experience in other European countries. Germany lacks many things—edible bread, good beer, real coffee, kerosene, rubber, oil, soap and fats; and in the cities, no doubt, meat and milk. The people here say that they eat little meat, their sustenance being largely vegetable and based on the foundation of the potato. It scores another triumph for the potato.