Nanny has returned! She was found tethered in a back-yard in a nearby village. Since the French household which claimed her as their lawful property refused to relinquish her peacefully, she was taken by storm. There was a scrimmage, the neighbors rallied to their friends’ assistance. But the two lads who had been the discoverers managed to break away bearing the struggling Nanny with them and, followed by the whole village shouting “Stop thief!” gained their truck and rolled triumphantly away. No longer, however, does Nanny wander at large, innocently trimming the villagers’ cabbage rows, or slipping slyly into the Adjutant’s office to sample his latest orders. Nanny is under guard. The engineers are taking no chances. Yesterday we acquired a kitten,—a wild-eyed yellow scrap brought in last night by a lad as an offering. The boys immediately christened her “The O. D. Cat.” Every time I give her a caress some one of the boys leaning over the counter is sure to remark: “Gee, wish I was a cat!” “But what shall I feed her?” I questioned, thinking of the difficulty of fresh milk. “Corn willy and cognac! What else would you give an O. D. cat?” they chorused. “And where shall she spend the night?” “I’ll keep her for you ma’am,” volunteered a brawny Texan. “She’ll sleep right in the bunk longside o’ me.” This morning the canteen was full of tales of the night. “Yes sir! he tied her up to a post with a rope as big around as your arm! An’ the pore cat nearly hanged herself. She hollered all night long!” This the Texan emphatically denied; he had a tale all of his own to tell however. “There was a mouse last night in the barracks. It was the littlest mouse you ever seen, but it chased that cat all around them barracks. Yes ma’am, it sure did run that cat ragged!” “Did you give her any breakfast?” I asked, disdaining any comment on his story. “Sure ma’am! I gave her a saucerful of cognac.” “You never did!” “Yes, an’ it did that cat good, it did. Soon’s she’d lapped up that saucer; ‘Bring on your mouse!’ she says.” He shook his head reflectively. “My, but that cat sure was feelin’ its strength this mornin’!” “Waste cognac on a cat! That’s a likely story for that guy to be telling!” was the single comment of the bystanders. Right here I wish to record a formal apology to the Secretary at X who sold me the six-franc eggs a month ago. Today I was talking to the Top Sergeant whom I encountered on my way home and who carried my basket for me. From something he let fall I now more than suspect it was he who accounted for that twenty-fourth egg! Abainville, October 16.