Here and there a few horses were tethered in poor canvas-covered shelters, and in the farmyards near-by we saw numbers of French military waggons which looked like gipsy carts. Occasionally we overtook a battalion of French or Belgian troops marching quietly towards the trenches. Their apparent absence of any definite marching formation struck us with surprise. They did not walk in line, but ambled along of their own free will; some with loaves of bread or rolls strapped to their knapsacks, and one carrying a roast of beef under his arm. They seemed to have foraged for themselves, and carried along any extras which appealed to their individual fancy. But they were a tall, stalwart-looking body of men, and we felt sure were much better trained than their irregular march would indicate. We had reached a point about midway between Poperinghe and Ypres. The morning was still soundless, save for the whir of our motor. "Looking at this blue sky and the quiet fields, who would ever believe there is a war so near?" Reggy remarked. These words had no sooner fallen from his lips than the air was suddenly rent with the blast of gun after gun, so close on our right that we were startled and instinctively jumped towards the left of our car. The sharp bursting of shells over our heads impelled us to look up, and there directly above us was a German aeroplane. Shell after shell burst below him, leaving rounded clouds of white smoke hanging in the still air, and as each exploded the aviator rose higher and higher. The range of the guns grew longer; some shells burst above him; some to right or left. Round after round of shrapnel followed his every movement. We looked in vain for the battery. They were so carefully hidden that although we could not have been fifty yards away, there was not the slightest visible sign to indicate their position. At the same time the whirring rat-tat-tat-tat of a machine gun close beside us on the left made us turn our heads sharply in that direction. At first we could not see this gun either, but guided by the sound we soon discovered it on a platform halfway up the outside of a farmhouse, against the wall, and manned by a French soldier. We watched the aviator with the same interest that a quartette of hunters might view some great bird, hoping to see him winged. But he seemed to bear a charmed life, and dodged shrapnel and machine-gun bullets alike, soaring higher and higher until he became a mere speck in the heavens. Then the firing ceased as abruptly as it had commenced.