Mery was inhabited, but for days the people had been packed up, fearfully waiting for the word of alarm. For the most part our men lived in hay lofts and hired rooms, but a few of the drivers preferred to enjoy the perfect weather in pup-tents near the horse-lines overlooking the Marne. We were able to buy chocolate, cheese, fruit, biscuits, and wine across the river at Saacy. The days were spent grooming the horses, swimming in the river, writing letters, or playing ball. In the evenings, the Regimental band would give a concert in the village square to the de­ light of the villagers. The men of the Regiment openly expressed no liking for the concerts, but they always seemed to be drawn to the square at the first notes of a catchy dance tune or a swinging march. The effect of music on the morale of troops has long been appreciated.

                During our stay at Mery, many of us had a chance for the first time to think quietly, and in a way formulate the strange new thoughts which had been seething in our tired brains. The Chateau-Thierry Drive, The Great July Offensive,—those names and others still more high-sounding were perhaps printed in huge type across the front page of newspapers at home, and the funny part of it was that it referred to us and what we had been doing for the past eighteen days—Last Tuesday,—when it rained so hard,—or Friday night (when Fred's horse fell down and broke the pole, you know,)—it was really History, the turning point of the most stupendous war the world has ever known—and here we were kicking at beans five times in a row! What should our attitude

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