It was a day of fluffy mauve-tinted clouds that moved across the sky, sometimes darkening to deep blue where a small rainstorm trailed across the hills, sometimes brightening to moments of clear sunlight that gave blue shadows to the poplars and shone yellow on the smoke of the engine that puffed on painfully at the head of the long train. “Funny, ain't it? How li'l everythin' is,” said Chrisfield. “Out Indiana way we wouldn't look at a cornfield that size. But it sort o' reminds me the way it used to be out home in the spring o' the year.” “I'd like to see Indiana in the springtime,” said Andrews. “Well you'll come out when the war's over and us guys is all home... won't you, Andy?” “You bet I will.” They were going into the suburbs of a town. Rows and clusters of little brick and stucco houses were appearing along the roads. It began to rain from a sky full of lights of amber and lilac color. The slate roofs and the pinkish-grey streets of the town shone cheerfully in the rain. The little patches of garden were all vivid emerald-green. Then they were looking at rows and rows of red chimney pots over wet slate roofs that reflected the bright sky. In the distance rose the purple-grey spire of a church and the irregular forms of old buildings. They passed through a station. “Dijon,” read Andrews. On the platform were French soldiers in their blue coats and a good sprinkling of civilians. “Gee, those are about the first real civies I've seen since I came overseas,” said Judkins. “Those goddam country people down at Polignac didn't look like real civilians. There's folks dressed like it was New York.” They had left the station and were rumbling slowly past interminable freight trains. At last the train came to a dead stop. A whistle sounded. “Don't nobody get out,” shouted the sergeant from the car ahead. “Hell! They keep you in this goddam car like you was a convict,” muttered Chrisfield. “I'd like to get out and walk around Dijon.” “O boy!” “I swear I'd make a bee line for a dairy lunch,” said Judkins. “Hell of a fine dairy lunch you'll find among those goddam frogs. No, vin blank is all you'ld get in that goddam town.” “Ah'm goin' to sleep,” said Chrisfield. He stretched himself out on the pile of equipment at the end of the car. Andrews sat down near him and stared at his mud-caked boots, running one of his long hands, as brown as Chrisfield's now, through his light short-cut hair.