One afternoon I sat reading a book and happening to glance up I beheld a strange sight. Walking, or I should say limping between two stalwart French infantrymen was a cripple. His left arm was doubled up at the elbow; later on I discovered it was withered. One leg was fully six inches shorter than the other and, to my astonishment, the Frenchmen were treating him none too kindly. They were not abusing him, as the natural courtesy of every Frenchman will not permit him to be impolite even to the hated Boches, but I could see that they would have dearly loved to have thrown their crippled prisoner down the steep banks of the canal. Being a runner, I was more or less privileged and my curiosity being aroused I determined to follow the party. They stopped at the headquarters' dugout and pushed their prisoner in. Walworth, in the absence of an interpreter, always officiated when difficulties of language cropped out. He was sent for. I listened to the Frenchmen's story. It appears these Frenchmen noticed, when coming down the main street of Ypres, that one of the houses showed very little signs of hard usage. After such a bombardment, this struck them as being suspicious, and knowing the cunning of the Hun only too well, they determined to search the house. Nothing did they find, but they were still dissatisfied. Quite by accident they hit on a door leading to a cellar underneath the house. Installed in this cellar was a complete telephone system, and our cripple and another man were operating it. The cripple's accomplice was promptly bayoneted by the irate Frenchmen, but they decided to take the other man along to the nearest headquarters, which happened to be ours. Whether or not these men were spies I cannot tell, but the evidence would point that way. Suffice it to say that the cripple was sent away to brigade headquarters and I am absolutely in the dark as to his ultimate fortune. It was not only my immediate chums who were refitting themselves and feeding themselves in the "hospitable" city of Ypres; every soldier who could do so partook of its bounty. Many and varied were the souvenirs that the boys brought back with them. To their credit be it said that they never took a thing that had belonged to any of the inhabitants, but the army was a different and legitimate prey. There was one exception, however, and a bunch of Number Seven Platoon were the proud purloiners of a brand-new gramophone. They had consumed a little wine and were correspondingly gay. Now, my Holy Rollers I suppose we shall have you holding up your hands in horror at those awful soldiers. Don't worry your precious souls; those boys were not allowed to get drunk. If they did disobey orders, we did our best to shield them and take over their duties until they were themselves again. It was very rare that they ever transgressed in this regard.