contain well-stocked stores and hospitable looking cafes. A wagon load of wine passes us and is greeted with affection; spirits rise perceptibly. Going into a "good sector" evidently. Still, these hills annoy us, and it is with a sigh of relief that we emerge on a long stretch of level road. Three villages lie ahead of us, and one, of no inconsiderable size is perched on a high hill at our left. Varennes, we are told, is the name of our new billet, and with a thrill of joy, we see on a guide post "Varennes-sous-les-Cotes, 2 kilo­ meters." Our joy is short lived, however, for some better-informed person announces that Varennes sur Amance is our destination. A shuddering fear grows into a sickening certainty as we pass through Varennes-sous-les-Cotes and swing off to the left, headed straight for that awe-inspiring hill. We have come fifteen long kilometers already, we are fagged out now, and there is that long-steep hill, a good two- kilometer climb before us. Up we go, through gathering dusk, panting and puffing; a last heart-breaking grade, and we halt. We are in the town.

                A brilliantly lighted cafe looms up in front of us, a large church lifts its slender spire off to the left, while lights glow hospitably in the houses around us. Surely "A" Battery is not billeted here! Why, this is a veritable metropolis, eight hundred people at least! None the less, it is true; this is our billet. And shouldering our packs again, we hunch stiffly down the street and are assigned our billets. And good billets they were. All the sections were assigned to vacant houses, while the Special Detail drew one fully

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