At Rinxent a number of second lieutenants, just commissioned at the Officers’ Training Camp at Langres, had joined us. We had a captain and five or six second lieuts. attached to “B” Co. The captain, who was commanding the company in my absence at bn. hdq., was a peculiar individual, with very fierce and imposing mustachios, and a manner to match; but an absurdly incongruous weak and husky voice, due to throat trouble. The lieuts. were rather a good bunch; men who had been n. c. o.’s in outfits that had come over during the preceding year, and some of whom had been in the trenches already. We were fortunate in keeping one of them, Lieut. Bivens Moore, in the company; the others we lost by transfers from time to time. Training was resumed again; schools ran in full force. Officers and men were continually going off to sundry corps or army schools in the vicinity; at St. Omer or points near by. Harold Sculthorpe went off to a cooks’ school, and we didn’t see him again for many a month. Sgt. Peterson was made Brigade Postal N. C. O. We received our first mail from home, and nobody can ever tell how welcome it was. Letters were the one slender thread that connected our new life with the old. A bit of mail cheered up a soldier for days; a disappointment when mail came in without one for him made him blue for a week. It was pleasant to see the earnest faces of fellows like Sgt. Schelter, and Corporal DeGrote beaming when they heard from their wives and little ones. With the impatience and eagerness of the newlyweds, I was of course sympathetic. And as for the majority, who were waiting for letters from the best little girl in the world, they were either insufferable in their glamourous egotism, or serio-comic in their suffering, according to whether the lady had seen fit to be kind or cool when she took her pen in hand. Certain ones, too, who shall be nameless, would receive letters in sundry handwritings, with a variety of post-marks. Don Juans, these; gay and giddy Lotharios in the old home town. We were billeted at a typical French farm of the larger type. As you turned in off the road through the gateway, a black dog chained in a little stone dungeon just inside barked fiercely. This poor beast had been chained in that one place for so long that he knew nothing else. He was half blind; and one day when I unchained him and took him for a walk down the road, he was desperately frightened; and as soon as he got back he made a dash for his kennel, and refused to come out.