still a trifle misty, and always there were signifcant pointers to measure our progress towards the
front. Beside the grey lines of old churches modern automobile trucks were drawn up, out of place,
grotesque, nearly laughable. We passed many
on the road, forging ahead beneath giant loads
with a noisy stubbornness. In one village, side
by side with a crowded, loquacious native market,
stood a travelling motor repair shop. Inside a
huge truck machinery whirred and grimy men
busied themselves making whole the parts of many
smaller trucks clustering around like a lot of
patient animals. We had had trouble with our
ignition, so we paused and asked for a new spark
plug. The uniformed mechanic waited only to
know the model of our car. A moment later he
was back with what we wanted.
We dashed on towards the trenches with a breathless haste. We had to reduce our speed to pass a long line of lancers, trotting beneath the trees, raising the dust higher than their waving pennons. Everywhere was evidence of the approach of a great squeeze,
“Then they'll use cavalry again!" some one exulted.
The appearance of the villages altered. In each one now khaki clad forms swarmed. Bronzed faces looked at us interestedly. Beside
