It did not take the men long to discover that there was always hot water in my kitchen, and that they were welcome to it if they would keep the kettles filled, and that I did not mind their coming and going—­ and I don’t, for a nicer crowd of men I never saw.  They are not only ready, they are anxious, to do all sorts of odd jobs, from hauling coal and putting it in, to cleaning the chimneys and sweeping the terrace.  When they groom the horses they always groom Gamin, our dapple-grey pony, and Ninette, which were never so well taken care of in their lives—­so brushed and clipped that they are both handsomer than I knew.  Though the regiment has only been here three days every day has had its special excitement.

The morning after they got here we had a royal ten minutes of laughter and movement.

In the old grange at the top of the hill, where they stabled seven horses, there had been a long bar across the back wall, fixed with cement into the side walls, and used to fasten the wagons.  They found it just right to tie the horses.  It was a fine morning, for a wonder.  The sun was shining, and all the barn doors were open to it.  The Aspirant and I were standing on the lawn just before noon—­he had returned from his morning ride—­looking across the Marne at the battlefield.  The regiment had been in the battle,—­but he was, at that time, still at St. Cyr.  Suddenly we heard a great rumpus behind us, and turned just in season to see all the horses trotting out of the grange.  They wheeled out of the wide door in a line headed down the hill, the last two carrying the bar to which they had been attached, like the pole of a carriage, between them.  They were all “feeling their oats,” and they thundered down the hill by us, like a cavalry charge, and behind them came half a dozen men simply splitting with laughter.

Amelie had been perfectly right.  The old grange was not solid, but they had not pulled the walls down on themselves, they had simply pulled the pole to which they were attached out of its bed.

The Aspirant tried not to smile—­an officer in command must not, I suppose, even if he is only twenty.  He whistled gently, put up his hand to stop the men from running, and walked quietly into the road, still whistling.  Five of the horses, tossing their heads, were thundering on towards the canal.  The span, dragging the long pole, swerved on the turn, and swung the pole, which was so long that it caught on the bank.  I expected to see them tangle themselves all up, what with the pole and the halters.  Not a bit of it.  They stopped, panting, and still trying to toss their heads, and the Aspirant quietly picked up a halter, and passed the horses over to the men, saying, in a most nonchalant manner:  “Fasten that pole more securely.  Some of you go quietly down the hill.  You’ll meet them coming back,” and he returned to the garden, and resumed the conversation just where it had been interrupted.