or swings the handle. His reward, from the smallest babe
swung high in air, or, if he is an older man, pressed against
his knees, is a kiss. Then nobody laughs.

Or a fat old lady making oration against some wicked young
soldiers who, she says, know what has happened to a certain
bottle of wine. "And I meant it for all--yes, for all of you
--this evening, instead of the thieves who stole it. Yes, I
tell you--stole it!" The whole street hears her; so does the
officer, who pretends not to, and the amused half-battalion up
the road. The young men express penitence; she growls like a
thunderstorm, but, softening at last, cuffs and drives them
affectionately before her. They are all one family.

Or a girl at work with horses in a ploughed field that is
dotted with graves. The machine must avoid each sacred plot.
So, hands on the plough-stilts, her hair flying forward, she
shouts and wrenches till her little brother runs up and swings
the team out of the furrow. Every aspect and detail of life
in France seems overlaid with a smooth patina of
long-continued war--everything except the spirit of the people,
and that is as fresh and glorious as the sight of their own land
in sunshine.

A CITY AND WOMAN

We found a city among hills which knew itself to be a prize
greatly coveted by the Kaiser. For, truly, it was a pleasant,
a desirable, and an insolent city. Its streets were full of
life; it boasted an establishment almost as big as Harrod's