There are several instances in which American soldiers coming from British and French Sectors, where they had been brigaded with armies of those nations, have upon entering a Salvation Army hut for the first time without noticing the sign over the door started to talk to the girls in French—very fragmentary French at that. When they found the girls to be Americans they were almost beside themselves with mingled feelings of bashfulness and delight. Most of the soldiers exhibit the former trait. One boy approached one of our men officers. “Can them girls speak American?” he asked, pointing at the girls. On being assured that they could, he said: “Will they mind if I go up and speak to them? I ain’t talked to an American woman in seven months.” Two soldiers were walking along the dusty roadway. First soldier: “Let’s go to the Salvation Army hut.” Second soldier: “No, I don’t want to.” First soldier: “They’ve got a piano and a phonograph and lots of records.” Second soldier: “No, I don’t want to.” First soldier: “They’ve got books and _beaucoup_ games.” Second soldier: “No, I don’t want to.” First soldier: “Two American ladies there!” Second soldier: “No, I don’t want to.” First soldier: “They’ve got swell coffee and doughnuts!” Second soldier (angrily): “No! I said No!” First soldier: “Aw, come on. They got real homemade pie!” Second soldier: “I don’t care!” First soldier: “They cut their own wood and do their own work!” Second soldier: “Well, that’s different! Why didn’t you say that right off, you bonehead? Come on. Where is it?” And they entered the Salvation Army hut smiling. One dear Salvation Army lady had a little hand sewing machine which she took about with her and wherever she landed she would sit down on an orange crate, put her machine on another and set up a tailor shop: sewing up rips; refitting coats that were too large; letting out a seam that was too tight; and helping the boys to be tidy and comfortable again. A good many of our boys lost their coats in the Soissons fight, and when they got new ones they didn’t always fit, so this little sewing machine that went to war came in very handy. Sometimes the owner would rip off the collar or rip out the sleeves, or almost rip up the whole coat and with her mouthful of pins skillfully put it together again until it looked as if it belonged to the laddie who owned it. Then with some clever chalk marks replacing the pins she would run it through her little machine, and off went another boy well-clothed. One week she altered more than thirty-three coats in this way. The soldiers called her “mother” and loved to sit about and talk with her while she worked. The men went in battalions to the Lunéville Sector for Trench Training facing the enemy. Of course, the Salvation Army sent a detachment also.