After looking about the town some more, we came on to Suzoy, where we stopped again to see the Boche drawings in the Mairie. It seems that they used that building for their staff headquarters during their prolonged stay there, and so decorated the walls a bit after their own taste. They did this in many places, but in most of the towns the natives have been so infuriated by the drawings that they have already destroyed them, but this village has saved theirs and shows them to you with pride. I could not help thinking of the Cook's tourists who will be shown them later on, I suppose. The chief and most important one of these drawings covers the entire end wall of the big hall. The side walls have medallions of the various crowned heads of Europe, more or less terrible caricatures. The big picture shows two fat naked German devils, with broad grins, and horns sticking out of their heads, and with long, pointed, forked tails, sitting in hell and watching and superintending the frying of the crowned heads of their enemies. The kings and presidents are all dangling on peacock feathers, trying not to slip into the fire, but all are sliding towards their doom. In the center, in the hottest part,--in fact, right in the flame,--are two figures, one, King George, I should imagine, and the other a neat little Highlander in his kilts. This is interesting in view of all the stories one hears about the Germans being more afraid of and hating the Scotch regiments more than any others, is it not? The pictures are well drawn, but are hideous, and you can imagine their effect on a French villager! There were also some excellent black-and-white charcoal sketches, which were really beautifully done, showing what happened in villages where the Germans were sniped at. A real artist must have done these last pictures. The most interesting thing in the village was a rough grave in the churchyard with a green board for a tombstone, bearing the following:-- "Ici a crevê Le Boche Qui a fait Sauter l'Êglise. 18 Mars, 1917." The story is that the officer, who ordered the destruction of the church just before their departure, was found half buried in the churchyard, the next morning (after the destruction), presumably killed by a French obus, but, to my way of thinking, more likely sniped by an irate villager. Anyway, the story is good, and the few remaining villagers like to tell it, and do it well. All the time that I was on this trip I think the thing that gave me the sincerest sympathy with the people was the thought which was constantly in my mind: "Suppose this was Marion; suppose this was our house, our garden, etc."