In the winter of 1944-45, the guns of war were spreading the stain of red blood on the snow ladened road to St. Vith, Belgium, near the German border. A forest of trees at its edge stood high and strong to their burden of snow, to shelter a group of soldiers tired and lost in a scene of death. Their minds were cuddled about a dwindling fire as they stood, scared of the distant barking guns and sick in remembrance of the frozen dead they had stumbled past.

The sky was clear by day and night, but the star-lit moon gave them little delight. When would rest be realized, they asked, in angered disgust. Were they lost from hope and assigned no end from this? Their hopes dropped to their feet and their eyes into the dwindling fire and smoke. Shorty, a soldier of size, came running from the company C.P., his face black with dirt yet red with joy. He threw his rifle high into the air and yelled, "Hey guys, we're moving back. Orders just came. Honest, it's true. I ain't mad!"

Faces beamed aloud as a cheer arose that equaled the noise of the distant guns. The fire turned from smoke to flame. Shorty shivered with gladness as he looked upon his fellow gang, as they stomped to a dance in their frozen shoes and dirty skin. "Better get your gear together," Shorty barked. "The trucks are soon to arrive."

At once the heart-warmed group scrambled in their race to readiness. From the holes of snow they rolled their frozen sacks, then tossed them under one arm and their rifles to the other. Trucks arrived and so they embarked on their long awaited ride. Not knowing where they were destined, they cared little more. Yet, as rumors do spread among excited men, so did they here. They rode for many hours through village after village.

In early afternoon, the trucks slowed their speed and turned toward a distant town. This is it, the soldiers yelled as they clamored to a place of view from the truck. They passed a sign beside the road that directed "Deigne Straight ahead."

"Gee, it's a swell place," said Shorty, as they all agreed. From a distance, its view was rich in peace. It lay both in a valley and on the side of a hill. A steeple of a church rose high into the air, while smoke floated in rest from the many homes. Children were seen playing in the snow and laughing, forgetful of a war so near.

"Yes indeed, this is some part of heaven I believe," said Shorty. "It's been so long, I'd forgot people were folks instead of machines. By golly," continued Shorty, "even the cattle are glad were here," pointing to a distant herd standing at the edge of the snowy field.

The trucks stopped and the Yanks debarked in Deigne, near Liege. At once hand shaking and broken dialect introduced the Belgians to the Yanks. The trucks now drew away to travel to another job. The Yanks, now standing in the scattered places amid the children and people of Deigne were called into a group with the command of an officer. As the officer spoke, he directed them to find quarters where they could. He informed them that this was a place of rest among hospitable people and should be regarded as such. Then he dismissed the group with the warning words of behavior that passed in one ear and out the other. The Yanks now shouldered their effects and walked amidst the people once again. Children ran to them reaching for their hand and pulled them into their homes. Alike, so did all Yanks find warmth and rest at the kind hands of these people.

Up a side road at the edge of a hill stood a home of age-old stone. It did not stand alone, but was built connected to another. It was a pleasant place to view, for the children's sleds were parked at its door and a pile of hay was stacked in front of its barn door. The roof was built of split logs and packed with straw. Its windows were tall and narrow and out from the chimney flowed the warmth that beckoned one in. Three Yanks had found this their temporary home. It wasn't a large place, yet the three yanks and the family of father, mother grandmother and four children were found to be quite in comfort, cuddled around the kitchen stove. The children were ranged in age from three to nine, of which two were girls and two were boys, were fond of the three new family friends and would clamor to their side in friendly joy. Their parents were common folk who had labored hard in life, for the master was a dairyman by trade. His herd was small yet his chore to it was endless from early morning to late at night. He was tall, slim, bald headed and always wore short knee pants with long heavy woolen socks that warmed his feet in wooden shoes. His wife was short and heavy and one of the best cooks in town.

One of the three Yanks was Bob, by name. He was a tall red headed fellow who could speak a little French and so remained the only means of conversation between the family and his two buddies.

The eve of their first day in Deigne was honored by a small party of visitors to this house of stone. A violin played to a dance of custom. The smell of native food, piled high on the table, and joy spread from within the hearts of all as they partook of the food and bestowed true friendship in one another. Such was a night that guns were forgotten and remembrance of Deign and its people will ever be remembered.

The party drew to a close as the master hustled his family to bed and the three Yanks bade them goodnight as they laid their beds in comfort around the kitchen stove. Morning came with the clatter of the kids' feet running down the stairs and bursting into the kitchen. The Yanks arose from their sound slumber to dress for another day. As they finished their breakfast the children awaited them at the door. Bob in broken words joined in their desire to talk, then turned to his buddies and beckoned them to join the sled ride which the kids so did want. Down by the church was a hill where all the kids were gathered. Each seemed to have brought his family visitor and laughs were so loud that guns and planes above could not be heard. Shorty, who had found quarters in the Padre's home, was puffing and beaming with smiles as he drew a sled up the hill with the helping hand of one of the children. After hours of play, Bob and his two buddies returned to the house of stone to find the master laboring at a bed of hay in his barn, making ready for the birth of a calf. Only minutes passed as the three Yanks offered their help and a calf was born. Thus the masters herd proudly grew.

Night came with the master's wife wishing the three yanks to fill their dish with rich brown pudding. It was so tasty it lasted but a short time. Bob asked if its recipe could be had and the wife blushingly responded with pen in hand. The three Yanks treasured the recipe for days long past the end of the war.

Sunday came with the next day, as the Yanks were awakened by the children's play. The master dressed his family for church early in the morning. They looked really fine in their best native dress, as they walked briskly out fro the door. They returned in a couple of hours and retired to the kitchen where the children eyed the Yanks in hopeful play and the want of candy, which always made them jump for joy.

Afternoon arrived on this snowy Sunday to bring the Padre to the door of the stone house. He entered with the master's welcome hand. His strong tall body was dressed in the robe of high regard. His voice was clear and wise. An hour passed in his company as the Yanks looked up to his vesture and thanked his presence by means of quiet prayer.

The officer once again called together all his men - Shorty, Bob and all the rest. "Roll your gear men, we're moving out," he said, in quiet words, "Rest has come to and end."

Returning to the home of the friendly fold, Bob and his buddies followed the officer's command. Few words were spoken as the three Yanks walked through the tall door and out into the cold. They shook hands with the master and his wife, thanking them for their kindness, and held the kids high in their arms in want of expression to show their thanks for their play. Trucks arrived in the town street where once again Yanks stood among their newly made friends and long to be remembered people.

Loaded in the trucks, the Yanks waved good-bye with loud yells of "Long Live Deigne." The trucks moved down the road and down the hill to the warring land. It was just dusk of day and as the Yanks looked back, the strongest among them had want to cry. The church steeple was white with snow against a soft blue sky. The grey smoke from out of the homes seemed to wave a last Good-bye. The trucks moved out into the forest of barking guns, with their cargo of rested, thankful men.