I'll never forget the little French port where we dropped anchor. Nothing I can ever see in the years to come--with the exception of the Allied flags floating over the Kaiser's palace in Berlin--will equal the thrill I got from watching the first khaki-clad Yankees marching up that narrow street to the tune of Yankee Doodle! I kept wondering who the dickens I was, to be privileged to witness such a history-making sight! The townsfolk mobbed us. They cheered us and hugged us and called down blessings on our heads. Someone took pity on us and showed us the way to an inn--a rambling white shallet with a big American flag hung from its windows. At the gate, the innkeeper and his plump little wife were awaiting us with open arms. They asked us if we would consent to eat "_poullet_." Consent! We would have devoured birch bark with a relish had it been cooked the way Madame Mousequet could cook! I have never tasted such chicken or such potatoes. And while we ate and drank the little lady fluttered about us, hoping, in voluble French, that everything suited "the dear officers from the United States." They would not take a cent of pay for the feast. It was, they assured us, "_une grande honneur_." Over and over they insisted that we must not think of spoiling their pleasure by having money pass between us. What can you do with people like that? That night we went to a little cinema theater. When the lights were turned up and the audience caught sight of us, they rose in a body and cheered us. In one of the boxes were a group of French officers and their wives. One of the officers hurried around to where we were sitting. "You must place yourself where all the people may see you," he insisted. There was no refusing him. He was like a child, bubbling over with joy at having us there. "Come," he pleaded, "let me seat you so that all may see." We followed meekly. The ladies in the box were awaiting us eagerly. They welcomed us with outstretched hands. And as I looked at those people who had been through two grilling years of war, I thanked God I came from a country that had taken up arms against a beast who was trying to crush the red poppies beneath his heel. It was hard to get leave to go up to Paris. Sailings were uncertain and special permission had to be obtained, but I made up my mind I'd go. General Pershing was to be there for the Fourth of July celebration at the tomb of Lafayette. I knew that would be a never-to-be-forgotten sight. I was right. It was a glorious morning and the thrill of the day was in the air--crowds everywhere--sky blue and navy blue uniforms rubbing shoulders with the khaki of our own boys. Women, many of them in black, hurrying--hurrying toward the spot where the great Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces could be seen. "Pershing!" Everywhere you heard his name and an under-current of eager whispers as to whether there would be a chance to see him or not.