The soldiers in the street cheer the wounded as they pass and the wounded answer by singing Die Wacht am Rhein feebly.
One poor chap raises his head and looks out.

He appears to be almost spent, but I see his lips move as he tries to sing.

You may not care for the German cause, but you are bound to admire the German spirit--the German oneness of purpose.
Noon.

As the Texas darky said: "Dinnertime fur some folks; but just twelve o'clock fur me!" Again I smell something cooking upstairs.

On the mantel of the shabby little interior sitting room, where we spend most of our time sitting about in a sad circle, is a little black-and- tan terrier pup, stuffed and mounted, with shiny glass eyes--a family pet, I take it, which died and was immortalized by the local taxidermist.