It was then nearly morning, for the dawn was beginning to show in the
sky, and we were taken to an old church, where we were told to lie
down and go to sleep. It was miserably cold in the church, and my
shoulder ached fearfully. I tried hard to sleep, but couldn't manage
it, and walked up and down to keep warm. I couldn't help but think
of the strange use the church--which had been the scene of so many
pleasant gatherings--was being put to, and as I leaned against the
wall and looked out of the window, I seemed to see the gay and
light-hearted Belgian people who so recently had gathered there.
Right here, I thought, the bashful boys had stood, waiting to walk
home with the girls... just the way we did in British Columbia, where
one church I know well stands almost covered with the fragrant
pines...

I fell into a pleasant reverie then of sunny afternoons and dewy
moonlit nights, when the sun had gone over the mountains, and the
stars came out in hundreds. My dream then began to have in it the
brightest-eyed girl in the world, who gave me such a smile one Sunday
when she came out of church... that I just naturally found myself
walking beside her.... She had on a pink suit and white shoes, and
wore a long string of black beads...

Then somebody spoke to me, and a sudden chill seized me and sent me
into a spasm of coughing, and the pain of my shoulder shot up into my
head like a knife... and I was back--all right--to the ruined church
in Belgium, a prisoner of war in the hands of the Germans!

The person who spoke to me was a German cavalry officer, who quite
politely bade me good-morning and asked me how I felt. I told him I