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FOREWORD
To M. D. M. and M. H. M:
Written with the thought of you in my mind, these letters are first of all for you, and after that for whoever they may concern, being a true record of one girl's experience with the A. E. F. in France during the Great War.
Bourmont, France, Nov. 24, 1917.
"It cleared off for several hours once," concluded our informant. "But that was in the middle of the night when nobody was awake to see."
Bourmont is a city set upon a hill, a hill that rises so sharply, so suddenly, that no motor vehicle is allowed to take the straight road up its side, but must follow the roundabout route at the back. Already we have heard tales about our hill; one of them being of a lad belonging to a company of engineers stationed here, who in a spendthrift mood, being disinclined to climb the hill one night after having dined at the caf? at its foot, bribed an old Frenchman with a fifty franc note to wheel him to the summit in a wheelbarrow. The Frenchman, for whose powers one must have great respect, achieved the feat eventually, the spectators agreeing the ride a bargain at the price.
"Gee! Looks as if this were Dippyville. There's one or two off in every house!"
Another boy gazing ruefully at the sign on his billet door, groaned;
"Twelve homes! Why, there ain't one there!"
One stable door nearby wears the legend in large scrawling letters; "Sherman was right." At first the owner was furious at this defacement of his property, but when someone explained the significance of the words to him, he became mollified and even took a pride in them.
"Where are you stopping?" asks one boy of another.
"Me? Oh, at the Hotel de Barn, four manure-heaps straight ahead and two to the right."
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