The air is clear and damp, and remarkably invigorating. A few deep breaths start the blood slowly moving through my veins, and I walk around in the mud, stretching my cramped limbs. There are the usual new shell-holes scattered about to make us first rejoice in our shelter and then look doubtfully at the all-too-thin layer of dirt on the roof between us and a direct hit. The Germans, when they take up a position, seem to think of it as permanent, dig their _abris_ often as deep as a hundred feet underground, and are absolutely safe in them except when a raiding party tosses a grenade down the stairs. Their officers’ quarters are particularly spacious, lined with cement, with the walls often papered, holding brass beds and other quite civilized comforts. A piano was found in one. It had been put in before the cement was laid, and they were unable to remove it when they retreated—even if they had had the time. The French, whether from laziness or because they expect soon again to be moving forward, waste little time on the dug-outs. The standard is a pit lined with sandbags, and covered by a conventional form of corrugated steel roof, with more sandbags and a little dirt on top of this. These protect from the _éclats_, or shell fragments, but form a death trap for all inside if there is a direct hit. If the side of a hill or a hollow is available it affords more protection. The one direct hit on our _abri_ at P 2 was luckily a “dud,” and caused no damage. I walk over to the pile of discarded equipment to see if anything interesting has been added during the night. This and the hospital are the two favorite places for souvenir hunters. At all the _postes_ and in the hospitals the rifles, bayonets, packs, belts, cartridges, knives, grenades, revolvers, shoes, and other equipment of the wounded and dead are put in a large pile, and the first to recover get the pick—after our selection. At the _postes_ these things are piled in the open, with no protection from the elements, and many are slowly disintegrating. This morning, of the new things there is of interest only one of the large wire-clippers, used by the _pionniers_ and scouts for passing through the enemy wire. But my friend has seen them first, so I waive all claims, and he tucks them carefully away in one of the several side-boxes with which the cars are equipped. The trees are twice decimated, but the birds have stayed, and now they are waking and, overflowing with high spirits, sing their message of good cheer. They answer each other from different parts of the wood, and by closing one’s eyes one seems to be in the country at home. Never has the song of birds seemed more beautiful or more welcome, and, gladdened, we listen while we may, before the slowly swelling thunder of the guns, beginning their early morning bombardment, drowns out all other sound. We go down again into the _abri_ and pray for a load soon to take us down to the hospital and breakfast at headquarters.