But oh! for the pride that goes before the stumbling-block! When it came to the test it seemed that the little operator, for all his bragging, couldn’t make the movie machine go. Perhaps it was because the lad didn’t understand the foreign make, perhaps it was because the machine needed to be talked to in French, or perhaps it was just because the project had been unblessed from the beginning; I don’t know. We had half the camp ganged around the machine, offering to take a hand. Everybody was criticizing and advising, which, I suppose, added the last touch to the little operator’s confusion. After waiting an interminable time in the dark we witnessed a few feeble flickers on the screen and then darkness once more. The audience dribbled disgustedly away. They probably made up for their disappointment in the cafés. This morning the driver stopped at the hut to take the machine away. “Have a good show, last night?” he asked. “Umm hm,” said I, grinning cheerfully. I am praying that the truth about that show never reaches the office! Mauvages, January 10. Tonight I leave Mauvages. Two weeks more and I shall be “homeward bound.” I am so tired that it has seemed to me for some time that the only thing I can do is to go home. There isn’t any room in France these days for anyone who isn’t perfectly strong, perfectly rested. A week ago I went to Nancy and persuaded the lady in charge of the women workers of this division, after some argument, to let me go. I have already overstayed my contract by eight months. Now they have telegraphed from Paris that they have a sailing for me. The man secretary is here to take over this hut. Because I hate leave-takings I tried to keep the fact that I was going dark until the very last minute but at the end word got around. The boys came flocking into my kitchen with messages and missives for the states. Boys whom I had never to my knowledge seen before pledged me to call up their wives on the long distance telephone as soon as I should land. One boy gave me two German fuses weighing a number of pounds apiece to carry home. If I would take one for him, I might keep the other one, he said. “Say hello to the Statue of Liberty for me!” “Give my regards to Broadway.” “Say Lady, can’t you take me in your trunk?” they chorused. As for Nick, he has instructed me to go to Brooklyn, pick out the best hat in his wife’s millinery store, “And tell the missus it’s on me.” I have taken my last agonized inventory, turned in my last accounts,—balanced by Big Bill. This afternoon I went to take my last look at the little hut. It is all torn to pieces, they have begun to build that addition which I started begging for a month ago; I slipped one of my canteen tea-cups into my bag just for old times sake.