The first car was a passenger car.  Each motor had a soldier as chauffeur.  I and the Reverend George Adam rode in the tonneau of the leading car, and Captain Godfrey, our manager and guide, sat with the driver, in front.  That was where he belonged, and where, being a British officer, he naturally wanted to be.  They have called our officers reckless, and said that they risked their lives too freely.  Weel—­I dinna ken!  I am no soldier.  But I know what a glorious tradition the British officer has—­and I know, too, how his men follow him.  They know, do the laddies in the ranks, that their officers will never ask them to go anywhere or do anything they would shirk themselves—­and that makes for a spirit that you could not esteem too highly.

It was the second car that was our problem.  We put Johnson, my accompanist, in the tonneau first, and then we covered him with cigarettes.  It was a problem to get them stowed away, and when we had accomplished the task, finally, there was not much of Johnson to be seen!  He was covered and surrounded with cigarettes, but he was snug, and he looked happy and comfortable, as he grinned at us—­his face was about all of him that we could see.  Hogge rode in front with the driver of that car, and had more room, so, than he would have had in the tonneau, where, as a passenger and a guest, he really belonged.  The wee bit piano was lashed to the grid of the second car.  And I give you my word it looked like a gypsy’s wagon more than like one of the neat cars of the British army!

Weel, all was ready in due time, and it was just six o’clock when we set off.  There was a thing I noted again and again.  The army did things on time in France.  If we were to start at a certain time we always did.  Nothing ever happened to make us unpunctual.

It was a glorious morning!  We went roaring out of Boulogne on a road that was as hard and smooth as a paved street in London despite all the terrific traffic it had borne since the war made Boulogne a British base.  And there were no speed limits here.  So soon as the cars were tuned up we went along at the highest speed of which the cars were capable.  Our soldier drivers knew their business; only the picked men were assigned to the driving of these cars, and speed was one of the things that was wanted of them.  Much may hang on the speed of a motor car in France.

But, fast as we traveled, we did not go too fast for me to enjoy the drive and the sights and sounds that were all about us.  They were oddly mixed.  Some were homely and familiar, and some were so strange that I could not give over wondering at them.  The motors made a great noise, but it was not too loud for me to hear larks singing in the early morning.  All the world was green with the early sun upon it, lighting up every detail of a strange countryside.  There was a soft wind, a gentle, caressing wind, that stirred the leaves of the trees along the road.