were soon on the road to Boulogne. It was bitterly cold, so we kept the car in which Lady Abbess was lying well covered. Just outside St. Omer, a British aeroplane mounted from the aviation field. This was the last we saw of active hostilities. Father Flynn kept the conversation going, and, between the prayers and hymns, endeavoured to enliven the company. He told us he was the first Catholic Chaplain to arrive with the troops in France. He was going to the front on the following Wednesday--let us hope that he will be spared. After running along for some time as smoothly as was possible, considering the bad state of the roads, the inmates of one of the motors heard a crack like a report of a revolver. At the same instant the car stood stock-still--the two others following necessarily did likewise. On enquiry, it was discovered that a tyre had burst, which meant a little halt on the way. As we were just outside a village, the inhabitants, though accustomed by this time to British soldiers passing by, were not accustomed to seeing nuns with them and consequently crowded round to examine us a little nearer. None being brave enough to ask where we came from, they solved the problem themselves, and christened us ‘Les Petites Sœurs de la Croix Rouge,’ a title which I am afraid we hardly deserved. The country through which we passed seemed very picturesque, judging from the glimpses we got from time to time by lifting up the flap at the end of the car--fields covered with snow gradually sinking in gentle slopes or rising in the distance in hilly ranges. From time to time a woody glade would change the monotony of the succeeding meadows, then a small village with its quaint little houses. As we were thus putting more and more distance between Belgium and ourselves, a sudden crash soon broke the reigning silence. The leading motor having drawn up when at full speed, the two others--not expecting this--had run one on top of the other. We were all thrown over on our seats and so remained, not daring to move, for fear of what might happen next. The truth was that the first car, owing to a rapid run down a slippery hill had charged into a telegraph post, and that was the cause of our being roused so unceremoniously out of the dreams of ‘auld lang syne.’ The drivers soon appeared to make excuses for the fright they had unwillingly given us, saying that there was no harm done, except for a window broken. We were quite reassured and started off again. Lady Abbess had fortunately not realised the danger, and only asked what the noise meant, and why we had stopped.