For a moment I was goose enough to believe it, then I learned that Neddy, with a lieutenant and some twenty other boys, had all gone off, the day being Sunday, on single mounts to Domremy to visit the birthplace of Jeanne D’Arc. Late in the afternoon the little cavalcade returned. “Neddy,” I teased, “I hear you’ve been in the guard-house.” To my astonishment Neddy’s mouth twitched, his eyes filled. “I wish I’d never gone!” he blurted out. “Why, what’s the matter?” Then the whole pitiful tale was unfolded. Neddy hadn’t any money, not a clacker, and being too shy to ask for a loan, he had gone on the trip with empty pockets. He hadn’t been able to buy himself a bite of dinner. But that wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was that he couldn’t purchase any souvenirs for his girl, and there had been so many enticing ones! “Gee,” he moaned, “but that’s an awful place for a feller to go who hasn’t any money.” Then, just as the last straw of misery, his horse had been taken sick on the way home! We are going through one of those painful periods of pecuniary depletion which are periodic in the army, the inevitable prelude to payday. In Battery A there are two lads whom I have privately dubbed Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They are both short, roly-poly and always smiling and they are absolutely inseparable. When either of them buys anything at the canteen he always buys double; two packets of cigarettes, two “bunches” of gum, two cups of hot chocolate “one for me and one for my friend” as the stock phrase goes. This morning I received a shock. Tweedledum asked for _one_ bar of chocolate and _one_ package of cigarettes. “What’s the matter?” I asked, thinking alarmedly of how in the immortal poem “Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have a battle,”—“You and your buddy haven’t quarrelled, have you?” “No ma’am, oh no indeed ma’am! It’s just that it’s an awful long ways from payday!” Later I saw them carefully dividing the purchases between them. I leaned over the counter, beckoned to Tweedledee. “You boys go around to the back door, but don’t let anybody see you!” At the back door I gave them each a slice of Snow’s latest lemon pie. Tonight the Major suddenly made his appearance in the kitchen to find Snow, Neddy and myself all sitting on the floor sorting out rotten oranges. Snow and Neddy faded away out the back door, but I stood my ground. For once his Majorship was pleased to be gracious. He complimented me on the improvement in the appearance of my kitchen. Indeed we did look pretty fine, Neddy having just covered the shelves with newspapers whose edges he had cut into beautiful fancy scalloping. “What do you do with those over-ripe oranges?” “Put them in a box outside the back door.” “Well? What then?” “The French children do the rest, sir.”