``Oh, the hell of a long way from here,'' the platoon commander said.

He did not remember quite where it was he had heard it, but he
remembered a sunny day in France and a hill all dark with pine woods,
and a man coming down at evening out of the woods, and down the slope
to the village, singing this song. Between the village and the slope
there were orchards in blossom. So that he came with his song for
hundreds of yards through orchards. ``The hell of a way from here,''
he said.

For a long while then they sat silent.

``It mightn't have been so very far from here,'' said the platoon
commander. ``It was in France, now I come to think of it. But it was a
lovely part of France, all woods and orchards. Nothing like this,
thank God.'' And he glanced with a tired look at the unutterable
desolation.

``Where was it?'' said the other.

``In Picardy,'' he said.

``Aren't we in Picardy now?'' said his friend.

``Are we?'' he said.

``I don't know. The maps don't call it Picardy.''

``It was a fine place, anyway,'' the platoon commander said. ``There