for?"

There must have been many of the boys who indulged in the same vein of
thought, to judge by the seriousness of the faces as we proceeded and left
the French hospital train behind.

On the evening of the third day, as we pulled slowly into the station at
Strazeele, we could hear in the distance the steady rumbling of the big
guns at the front.

CHAPTER IV

ARE WE DOWNHEARTED? NO!

"Hush, boys,... we're in enemy country!" our second in command whispered
ominously. We shivered. The sound of the guns seemed to grow louder.
Captain Johnson repeated his warning:

"Not a word, men," he muttered, and we stumbled out of the station in
silence that could be cut with a knife. Sure enough the enemy was near. He
couldn't have been less than twenty-two miles away! We could hear him.
There was no disposition on our part to talk aloud. Captain Johnson said:
"Whisper," and whisper we did.

We trekked over mud-holes and ditches, across fields and down through
valleys. We had many impressions--and the main impression was mud. The main
impression of all active service is--mud. It was silent mud, too, but we
knew it was there. Once in a while during that dark treading through an
unfamiliar country one of the boys would stumble and fall face down. Then
the mud spoke ... and it did not whisper. There were grunts and murmurings,
there were gurgling expletives and splutterings which sent the army, and
all fools who joined it, to places of unmentionable climatic conditions. We
were in it up to our necks, more or less literally.

All the way along we could see the flashes of star shells. When one went up
we could fancy the battalion making a "duck" in perfect unison. The star
shells seemed very close. It was still for us to learn that they always
seem close.

After about seven miles of this trekking, we reached billets. This was our
first experience of French billets. The rest-house was a barn and we were
pretty lucky. We had straw to lie on.

Notwithstanding our distance from the enemy, as Captain Johnson had said,
we were in his country, and in consequence there had to be a guard. Four of
the boys were picked for the job. There was no change in my luck. I was one
of the chosen four.

The guardroom, whether for good or ill, was set in a chicken house. And
thereby hangs a tale--feather. Corporal of the guard was a sport. He was a
young chap from Red Deer, Alberta. Now, figure the situation for yourself.
For days past