In a little restaurant we met some friends of the 3rd Division and a
couple of London Scots, who were getting heartily sick of the L. of C.,
though taking prisoners round the outskirts of Paris had, I gather, its
charm even for the most ardent warriors.

In the morning there was parade, a little football, and then a stroll
into the town. I had just finished showing an Intelligence Officer how
to get a belt back on to the pulley of his motor-cycle when Cecil met me
and told me we were to move north that evening.

We had a delectable little tea, bought a map or two, and then strolled
back to the barracks. In half an hour we were ready to move off, kit
piled high upon our carriers, looking for all the world (said our C.O.)
like those funny little animals that carry their houses upon their backs
and live at the bottom of ponds. Indeed it was our boast that--such was
our ingenuity--we were able to carry more kit than any regimental
officer.

It was dusk when N'Soon and I pushed off,--we had remained behind to
deal with messages that might come in foolishly after the Division had
left. We took the great highroad to Calais, and, carefully passing the
General, who was clattering along with his staff and an escort of
Hussars, we pulled up to light our lamps at a little estaminet with
glowing red blinds just like the blinds of certain hospitable taverns in
the city of Oxford. The coincidence was so remarkable that we were
compelled to enter.

We found a roaring, leaping log-fire, a courteous old Frenchman who
drank our healths, an immense omelette, some particularly good coffee,