canvas sides that flapped mournfully like huge wings in the wind as
Pierre drove it along the streets. I could never repress a shiver when I
saw it flapping along. The driver was far from being a sorry individual
with his crisp black moustaches _bien frisés_ and his merry eye. He
explained to me in a burst of confidence that his _métier_ in peace
times was that of a trick cyclist on the Halls. What a contrast from
his present job. He promised to borrow a bicycle on the morrow and give
an exhibition for our benefit in the yard. He did so, and was certainly
no mean performer. The only day I ever saw him really downcast was when
he came to bid good-bye. "What, Pierre," said I, "you don't mean to say
you are leaving us?" "Yes, Miske, for punishment--I will explain how it
arrived. Look you, to give pleasure to my young lady I took her for a
joy-ride, a very little one, on the coffin cart, and on returning behold
we were caught, _voilà_, and now I go to the trenches!" I could not help
laughing, he looked so downcast, and the idea of his best girl enjoying
a ride in that lugubrious car struck me as being the funniest thing I
had heard for some time.

We were a never-failing source of wonderment to the French inhabitants
of the town. Our manly Yeomanry uniform filled them with awe and
admiration. I overheard a chemist saying to one of his clients as we
were passing out of his shop, "Truly, until one hears their voices, one
would say they were men."

"There's a compliment for us," said I, to Struttie. "I didn't know we
had manly faces until this moment."

After some time when work was not at such a high pressure, two of us
went out riding in turns on the sands with one of the Commandants.
Belgian military saddles took some getting used to with the peak in