"And this is war; this is the chosen theme of poets and troubadours, and Reden Ryckers.

Truly was it said by the men of old, dulce bellum inexpertis." "Tu dis ?" "I say-oh, what stout hearts some men have!" "N'est-ce pas, p'tit?
So after that sort--thing--this sort thing is heaven.

Soft--warm--good company, comradancow--cou'age--diable--m-ornk!" And the glib tongue was still for some hours.
In the morning Gerard was wakened by a liquid hitting his eye, and it was Denys employing the cow's udder as a squirt.
"Oh, fie!" cried Gerard, "to waste the good milk;" and he took a horn out of his wallet.

"Fill this! but indeed I see not what right we have to meddle with her milk at all." "Make your mind easy! Last night la camarade was not nice; but what then, true friendship dispenses with ceremony.

To-day we make as free with her." "Why, what did she do, poor thing ?" "Ate my pillow." "Ha! ha!" "On waking I had to hunt for my head, and found it down in the stable gutter.