went to ask their advice as to how I should set about it. They told me
the best way, though rather the longest, was to go first to Mâlines and
then on to Tirlemont from there, and the only possible way of getting
there was to walk, as they had done a few days previously, and trust to
getting lifts in carts. There had been no fighting going on when they
had passed, and they thought I should get through all right.

So I set out very early in the morning accompanied by another Sister,
carrying a little basket with things for one or two nights. I did not
ask for any _laissez-passer_, knowing well enough that it would not be
granted. We were lucky enough to get a tram the first part of the way,
laden with peasants who had been in to Brussels to sell country produce
to the German army, and then we set out on our long walk. It was a
lovely late September morning, and the country looked so peaceful one
could hardly believe that a devastating war was going on. Our way led
first through a park, then through a high-banked lane all blue with
scabious, and then at last we got on to a main road, when the owner of a
potato cart crawling slowly along, most kindly gave us a long lift on
our way.

We then walked straight along the Mâlines road, and I was just remarking
to my companion that it was odd we should not have met a single German
soldier, when we came into a village that was certainly full of them. It
was about 11 o'clock and apparently their dinner hour, for they were all
hurrying out of a door with cans full of appetizing stew in their hands.
They took no notice of us and we walked on, but very soon came to a
sandy piece of ground where a good many soldiers were entrenched and
where others were busily putting up barbed-wire entanglements. They
looked at us rather curiously but did not stop us, and we went on.
Suddenly we came to a village where a hot skirmish was going on, two