Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1918-03-03

their French on her. They might rs
well have talked Choctaw. l speak the
lize the lady. and did. which didn't in
crease my popularity any.
II say. Yank." some one would call.
don't be a blinkin' 'og. Give some
Whereupon 1 would pursue my CON-
quest all the more ardently. I was
making a large hit, as ! thought, when
in came an officer After that I was
Tommies, who joshed me numerically.
They discovered that my middle name
was Derby. and they ehristened me
as long as I was with them.
Some of the questions the men asked
about the states were certainly funny.
One chap asked what language we
spoke over here. 1 thought he was
spoofing. but he actually meant it. He
thought We spoke something like Ital-
ian. he said. I couldn't resist the temp
tation, and filled him up with a line Of
ghost stories about wild Indians just
outside Boston. / told him I left be-
cause of a raid in which the redskins
scalped people on Boston Common.
After that he used to poster the life out
of me for wild west yarns with the
scenes laid in New England.
One chap was amazed and, I think, a
little incredulous because didn't know
a man named Fisk in Des Moines.
We went back to the trenches again
and were there five days. 1 was out ono
night on barbed wire work, which 10
dangerous at any time. and was espe-
cially so with Fritz in his condition of
jumpy nerves. You have to do most of
the work lying on your back in the
mud, and If you jingle the wire Fritz
traverses no mans land with his
rapid firers, with fair chance of bag
ging something.
1 also had one night on patrol, which
later became my favorite game. I will
tell more about it in another story.
At the end of the five days the whole
battalion was pulled out for rest. We
marched a few miles to the rear and
came to the village of Petite-Saens
This town had been fought through,
but for some reason had suffered lit
tie. Few of the houses had been dam
aged, and we had real billets.
My section, ten men besides myself,
drew a big attic in a clean house. There
was loads of room and the roof was
tight and there were no rats. 1t was
oriental luxury after Bully-Grenay and
the trenches, and for a wonder nobody
had a word Of "grousing" over kip
ping" on the bare floor.
The house was occupied by a very old
peasant woman and very little girl,
three years old. and as pretty as pic
ture. The old woman looked ill and
sad and very lonesome. One night as
we sat in her kitchen drinking black
coffee 1 persuaded her to tell her story.
1t was, on the whole. rather a cruel
thing to ask. I am afraid. 1t is only
one} of many such that 1 heard over
there. France has, indeed, suffered. I
set down here. as nearly as can trans
late. what the old woman said:
Monsieur. I am very, very old now,
almost eighty, but I Am patriot and
love my France. I do not complain
that 1 have lost everything in this war.
is for my patrie; but there is much
sadness for me to remember. and it is
with great bitterness that I think Of
the pig Allemand-beast that he is
Two years ago lived in this house,
happy with my daughter and her hus-
band and the little baby, and my hus-
band, who worked in the mines. He
was too old to fight, but when the great
war came he tried to enlist, but they
would not listen to him. and he re-
turned to work. that the country should
not be without coal.
4*
THE beau-fils (son-in-law). he on
listed and said goodbye and went to
the service.
great battle not far from the very
house the beau-fils is wounded very
badly and is brought to the house by
comrades to die.
THE boche come into the village but
the beau-fls is too weak to go. The
boche come into the house, seize my
daughter, and there-they-oh, mon
sieur-the things one may not say
and we SO helpless.
Ior fl IN vi q