I'd been in France when I came back to America in the autumn o' 1917.

My boy was in France still; I'd knelt beside his grave, hard by the Bapaume road.

I'd seen the wilderness of that country in Picardy and Flanders.

We'd pushed the Hun back frae a' that country I'd visited--I'd seen Vimy Ridge, and Peronne, and a' the other places.
I told what I'd seen.

I told the way the Hun worked.