From Noyon we were escorted south to a small town called Blérancourt, where the poilus come home for vacation, and a gayer place I never was in. Music, songs, soldiers dressed up playing tag, fencing, huge signs telling of a spree to come off that night in the big room at the canteen run by the English. We entered this building, and found three charming English women who are living there, and running a rest and writing-room and a canteen for the poilus. They serve about seven hundred a night, they said. They invited us to eat our luncheon in their garden, which we were most willing to do. I tried to get some pictures of it, but I doubt if any of mine will come out. It was pretty cloudy for photos. [Illustration: Will Irwin in the Garden at Blérancourt] [Illustration: Mrs. Williams (back), Miss Dobson, and Mrs. Wethey in the Garden at Blérancourt] I managed to get a chance to talk with one of these women, and she was so interesting. They are certainly doing a good thing, staying there. They live in the most simple way, sleeping outdoors in the garden, wearing khaki shirts and skirts. They are the only women in the town. Their life is gay in some ways. A French poilu on his four days' leave is more of a kid than anything I ever laid eyes on. One woman told me she did not know when they ever rested, for they kept up the noise and fun all day and all night too. After a very nice luncheon, which we had brought with us, for one cannot get food in the military zone, we went on. We were aiming for Chauny, or, at least, we all hoped that we were, for Mr. Irwin told us that was as near the front as any women would be allowed to get. The country by this time was entirely ruined and very military-looking,--that is to say, all criss-crossed with trenches, entanglements, and dug-outs. We kept meeting high-powered cars going at a frightful speed,--mostly closed ones,--with officers in them. I can tell you that driving was no fun. I had to keep close to the other car which went at about thirty miles an hour, making a frightful amount of dust, but I did not dare slow down or lose sight of them, for I hate to think what would happen to a party of women found in the zone des armées, traveling about without the proper escort. I do not believe that any papers would be of the slightest use. As a matter of fact, the papers were all made out wrong, and the one we did possess said that our party consisted of Mrs. Hapgood (in the other car), Mr. Williams (ditto), and Miss Upjohn and Mr. Pelletier, the chauffeur. How I was to pose as a man chauffeur I do not know.