glycerine _far millions of eighteen-pounder shells_; the problem of camp
refuse, always a desperate one, has been solved; and as a commercial
venture the factory makes 250 per cent. profit.

Undeterred by what we hear of the smells! we go off to see it, and the
enthusiastic manager explains the unsavoury processes by which the bones
and refuse of all the vast camp are boiled down into a white fat, that
looks _almost_ eatable, but is meant, as a matter of fact, to feed not
men but shells. Nor is that the only contribution to the fighting line
which the factory makes. All the cotton waste of the hospitals, with
their twenty thousand beds--the old dressings and bandages--come here,
and after sterilisation and disinfection go to England for gun-cotton.
Was there ever a grimmer cycle than this, by which that which feeds, and
that which heals, becomes in the end that which kills! But let me try to
forget that side of it, and remember, rather, as we leave the smells
behind, that the calcined bones become artificial manure, and go back
again into the tortured fields of France, while other bye-products of
the factory help the peasants near to feed their pigs. And anything,
however small, that helps the peasants of France in this war, comforts
one's heart.

We climb up to the high ground of the camp for a general view before we
go on to G.H.Q. and I see it, as I saw it last year, spread under the
March sunshine, among the sand and the pines--a wonderful sight.
"Everything has grown, you see, except the staff!" says the Colonel,
smiling, as we shake hands. "But we rub along!"

Then we are in the motor again, and at last the new G.H.Q.--how
different from that I saw last year!--rises before us. We make our way
into the town, and presently the car stops for a minute before a