good hour waiting for the second ovenful to finish baking.

Certainly no greasy pig at a county fair was ever more difficult to
manage than that long nine-pound loaf of red hot bread. There was no
way of handling it--it burned everything it touched. No sooner did I
put it under one arm than I was obliged to change it to the other post
haste. Add to this the fact that I had not ridden a bicycle since a
child, and realize that whether walking or riding the bread was equally
hot and equally cumbersome. It was too long to fit into the handlebars,
besides how could I hold it there? Too soft to be tied with string that
I might buy. At one moment I thought seriously of picking up my skirt
and carrying the bread as peasant women do grass and fodder, but alas, a
1914 skirt was too narrow to permit this. At length when almost
disheartened and I had stood my loaf against the side of a house to
cool, I recognized a familiar voice back of me, and George appeared on
his wheel to announce that my party had camped in a young orchard two
miles outside of Rebais, neither man nor beast being capable of going
any farther. We clapped our loaf into an overcoat that was strapped to
the back of his machine, and swinging it between us, soon joined the
others.

Our noonday repast was composed of cold bam and fried potatoes. I think
I never ate better, though I must confess that the latter were stolen
from a neighboring field. By two o'clock a dozen weary inhabitants of
Villiers were stretched out on their rugs and peacefully dreaming! We
had decided to rest before determining what to do for the night.

I was awakened by a stiff feeling in my neck, and opened my eyes to find
that the sun was rapidly disappearing in the west. I had slept soundly
four hours and was much refreshed, though the bumps in the ground had