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-I06-

Military Policeman.
I asked our rescuers to partake of our wine, the only thing we had to offer. We sat for some time conversing with them and they confided that their mission was to find a way of crossing the river: Did we know of some secret passage? Another disclosed that if by twelve o'clock the next day no way could be found, the town of Florence would be razed to the ground. 'Why, the river-bed is almost dry; all you have to do is walk across,' I said. 'But what about the cannons that are firing on us the whole time from the other side?' answered the soldiers. Finding myself unequal to solving such intricate military problems I turned to literature. Would my guests like some books to read? It was exactly what they wanted, as they were about to be sent to Sienna for a rest. To each I have a novel found in a collection once belonging to the late owner of my villa. I relied somewhat on their titles: 'The Casting of Nets', Those that walk in Darkness', 'The Three White Feathers', and others written in far-off Victorian times. Now most of these soldiers were New Zealanders and splendid types of men. They had much to say of interest concerning their homes and their fighting. Among them however the one that stands out in highest relief was a dimunitive and ugly ugly little fellow with a long nose and a crooked mouth. He was from London, he told us. When walking to my villa with my defenders, I saw him standing in a doorway, an odd figure