“This cow barn,” said Corporal Sutherland, “seems like a good thing after being in the trenches; don’t it?” “An’ faith it does,” said Quinn; “but a fine tooth comb would improve it.” “Pat,” said Dean, facetiously, “is related to that countryman of his who found fault because he was to be hanged.” No sky is perfect without a few clouds; but we had an overshadowing one because we did not get letters from home. There had been complaint ever since the American Expeditionary Force first landed in France, that our letters did not reach us as quickly as they should. Some mail had just come in, however, and the boys were gladdened by the news. “Just got some letters from home,” said Corporal Sutherland, “and I am mighty glad to get them, though they are so old they are like last year’s birds’ nests.” “What’s the matter with our mail service?” queried Shaw. “The poilus get their letters regularly, I am told.” “The poilus manage their mail better, because it is distributed by women who are in sympathy with their boys; so their letters don’t have to wait until they are cold and dead with old age,” said Sutherland. “They reach them warm from the hearts of those who write them; and I believe that is what gives the blue devils, as the Boches call them, courage to fight so well.” I was fortunate to get some letters from home and a box of goodies, among which was some spruce gum and a quart can of maple sugar right from the hills of Chester. You may infer that I enjoyed these good things after so lately having come from the hospital! The little French woman, in whose barn we were billeted, was the wife of a French soldier. She had three children ranging in ages from three to seven years. Our men petted the kiddies and shared their rations with them. I shared my goodies with the children much to their delight. I was very fond of little four-year-old Marie, who was as pretty as a picture and loved sweet things. One day I was having a great frolic with her. Her face was smeared with chocolate and maple sugar, and a circle of dirt, mingled with the sticky sweets, formed a halo around her pretty mouth. She was in high glee over the possession of peppermints and a doughnut, which was almost as hard as the chocolate. I was dancing her in my arms, and she was piping like a little canary in attempting to express her delight, when I encountered a French soldier who, to my embarrassment, hugged me and kissed me on either cheek. This is to the French the same as a hearty handshake with us. “I am so glad,” he said in broken English, “to see you. The madame has told me in her letters how good you Americans have all been to my children and to her.” He told me that he had lived in New York for a time before he was married, and loved my country and its good people. He was on a short leave of absence to see his family. He said he had been a little jealous, when his wife had told him about the kindness of the Americans who were billeted at his home.