of the village, to the village's extreme
content. Many minutes elapsed. Rumour floated down that something, was
wrong in front. Captain Resmith had much inspectorial cantering to do,
and George faithfully followed him for some time. At one end of the
village a woman was selling fruit and ginger-beer to the soldiers at
siege prices; at the other, men and women out of the little gardened
houses were eagerly distributing hot tea and hot coffee free of charge.
The two girls from the crossroads entered the village, pushing their
bicycles, one of which had apparently lost a pedal. They wore
mackintoshes, and were still laughing.

At length George said:

"If you don't mind I'll stick where I am for a bit."

"Tired, eh?" Resmith asked callously.

"Well! I shall be if I keep on."

"Dismount, my canny boy. Didn't I tell you what would happen to you? At
your age--"

"Why! How old d'you think I am?"

"Well, my canny boy, you'll never see thirty again, I suppose."

"No, I shan't. Nor you either."

Captain Resmith said:

"I'm twenty-four."

George was thunder-struck. The fellow was a boy, and George had been
treating him as an equal! But then the fellow was also George's superior
officer, and immeasurably his superior in physique. Do what he would,
harden himself as he might, George at thirty-three could never hope to
rival the sinews of the boy of twenty-four, who incidentally could
instruct him on every conceivable military subject. George, standing by
his sodden horse, felt humiliated and annoyed as Resmith cantered off to
speak to the officer commanding the Ammunition Column. But on the trek
there was no outlet for such a sentiment as annoyance. He was Resmith's
junior and Resmith's inferior, and must behave, and expect to be behaved
to, as such.

"Never mind!" he said to himself. His determination to learn the art and
craft of war was almost savage in ferocity.

When the Battery at length departed from Ewell the rain had completed
its victory but at the same time had lost much of its prestige. The
riders, abandoning illusion, admitting frankly that they were wet to the
skin, knowing that all their clothing was soaked, and satisfied that
they could not be wetter than they were if the bottom fell out of the
sky, simply derided the rain and plodded forward. Groups of them even
disdained the weather in lusty song. But not George. George was
exhausted. He was ready to fall off his horse. The sensation of fatigue
abo