News was not always plentiful, and it was a little hard at times to find anything particularly interesting to say, and so, one night I determined to make a variation. I told the men that on the next evening, if they would bring in questions to me on any subject which had been troubling them, I should be very glad to try to give an (p. 163) answer. I thought that an entertainment of that kind might be both attractive and helpful. On the next evening, therefore, I ascended the platform as usual and found the place crowded with men. I had my acetylene lamp with me to furnish light for reading any questions that might be sent up. I called the meeting to order, and then asked if any men had any questions to ask. To my great delight, someone at the back held an envelope above the crowd, and it was passed up to me. I tore it open, and, holding my lamp in one hand, without first looking over the letter, I read it aloud to the men, who were hushed in the silence of anticipation. I give it just as it was written:-- "Somewhere in France, 3/4/17. Dear Sir:-- I am going to ask you a question which has been a load to my little bit of mental capacity for a period of months. Often have I woke up in the old dugout, my hair standing straight up and one eye looking straight into the eyeball of the other, trying to obtain an answer to this burning question. I have kept my weary vigil over the parapet at night, with my rifle in one hand and a couple of bombs in the other, and two or three in each pocket, and still I am pondering over this burning question. I will now ask you the question. When do you think this God dam war will be over, eh?" I never was so completely taken aback in all my life. A roar of laughter burst from the men, in which I joined heartily. From the tiers of bunks and every part of the building, cheers went up, and we had one of the pleasantest evenings in that old cinema that we had ever experienced. I do not know who the man was who sent the letter, or whether he is alive now. If he is, I wish he would write to me. I want to thank him for giving us all a good, hearty laugh at that time of preparation and anxiety. I keep the letter among my most treasured war souvenirs. The winter rains had not improved the roads, but still day and night, through mud and water, a constant stream of vehicles of all descriptions passed up towards the front carrying ammunition. Ammunition was everywhere. At certain places it was stacked along the roads. The strain upon the horses was very great, and numbers of them died, (p. 164) and their bodies lay by the wayside for many days, no one having time to bury them.