One would never think, to judge from the smiling faces of these men in this little German village, that but a few weeks before they were at death grips with the Germans in the Argonne. Yet such was their nature—if to fight, they fought like devils ; if to relax, fighting over, they were good fellows, ready to joke or play. The Germans could not understand them. These boys entered Germany on December 1, 1918, after a five weeks' trek, a long, hard grind. When they left the battlefield they were loaded down with souvenirs of all kinds —helmets, pistols, rifles, bayonets. As the days wore on, the load grew heavier and heavier, and one by one these souvenirs went into the wayside ditches. The roads were littered with them. Our army entered Germany on a front of sixty miles. Treves (trevz) was the first big city reached, and with eyes straight ahead, cartridge clips filled, they marched in quiet, businesslike manner through silent streets lined with people whose secret hostility was shown in sullen, lowering looks. Our boys could not fail to note the contrast between this clean, prosperous city with its well-fed crowds, and the forlorn and devastated towns and villages of France they had left such a short time before. In comparison, Germany seemed a land of peace and plenty. Finally this command reached its billet in this little town and characteristically the first thing the men did was to make friends with the children. We see no fear in the eyes of these German children surrounded by men of an alien army—they have learned that this army does not make war on children. The local shrine around which they are grouped is in the center of the village square.