Somehow, that first evening in the wards, I felt that I too had my share of courage and of usefulness. Down there, in the firing line, they had found wherewith to feed their pride; here, the young heroes would be able to unburden their souls. At the front they had seen the living France. In this hospital, perhaps, they would come face to face with God--forgotten, misunderstood, abandoned--God who is so good to those who fall. The major gave us his recommendations and the last orders. He was struck at seeing so many budding moustaches, and beards. "Heavens! I only see priests to the fore!" "Priests to the fore!" That is indeed our motto. Our comrades say we are rash. All the same, they are as rash as we are. _They_ go to the bloody business laughing, _we_ go praying. FOOTNOTE: [6] All numerals relate to stories told herein--not to chapters in the book. STORIES OF AN AMERICAN WOMAN--SEEN WITH HER OWN EYES "_Journal of Small Things_" _Told by Helen Mackay, an American Author_ This is a story of little things and impressions gathered on the battle grounds by a woman of sensitive vision and understanding. She relates her impressions with a delicate pathos, little incidents half observed, half forgotten, which clustered around the big tragedy. Mrs. Mackay has gathered several hundred of these little stories into a book. A few of them, typical of their literature and woman quality are here related by permission of her publishers, _Duffield and Company_: copyright 1917. [7] I--THE STORY OF THE DEPOT D'ECLOPES The dépot d'éclopés is just beyond the town, on the Roman road. The building was once the Convent of the Poor Claires. When the Sisters were sent away it was used as Communal Schools. There is a great plane tree outside the door in the yellow wall, and a bench in the shade. There is room for seven éclopés to sit crowded together on the bench. They bring out some chairs also. All day long, and every day, as many of the éclopés as can get about, and do not mind that the road see them, and can find space in the shade of the plane tree, sit there, and look up and down the sunshine and the dust. Some of them have one leg, and some of them have one arm. There is one of them who is packed into a short box on wheels. He sits up straight in the box, and he can run it about with his hands on the wheels. There is another in such a little cart, but that one has to lie on his back, and cannot manage the wheels himself. There is one who lies on a long stretcher, that they fix on two hurdles. There are two who are blind. The two blind men sit, and stare and stare.... I often go and stay with the éclopés at the gate, they like to have anybody come. It was a long time before I dared go in at the gate.