ted of being a
spy--in fact, probably was--so the military police were set to watch
her,--a job, I gathered later from one of them, much to their liking.

Our life on the Aisne, except for little exciting episodes, was restful
enough. We averaged, I should think, a couple of day messages and one
each night, though there were intermittent periods of high pressure. We
began to long for the strenuous first days, and the Skipper, finding
that we were becoming unsettled, put us to drill in our spare time and
gave some of us riding lessons. Then came rumours of a move to a
rest-camp, probably back at Compiegne. The 6th Division arrived to take
over from us, or so we were told, and Rich and Cuffe came over with
despatches. We had not seen them since Chatham. They regarded us as
veterans, and we told them the tale.

One afternoon some artillery of this division came through the valley.
They were fine and fresh, but not a single one of us believed they
equalled ours. There was a line of men to watch them pass, and everybody
discovered a friend until practically at every stirrup there was a man
inquiring after a pal, answering questions, and asking what they thought
in England, and how recruiting was going. The air rang with crude,
great-hearted jokes. We motor-cyclists stood aside just criticising the
guns and men and horses. We felt again that shyness we had felt at
Chatham in front of the professional soldier. Then we remembered that we
had been through the Retreat and the Advance, and went back to tea
content.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] I do not pretend for a moment that all these details are
meticulously accurate. They are what I knew or thought I knew at the
time this was written.

[14] Curiously enough, months after this was written the author was
wounded by shrapnel.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MOVE TO THE NORTH.

We left Serches at dusk with little regret and pushed on over the hill
past Ferme d'Epitaphe of gluttonous memory, past the Headquarter clerks,
who were jogging peacefully along on bicycles, down the other side of
the hill, and on to the village of Maast.

Headquarters were in a curious farm. One side of its court was formed by
a hill in which there were caves--good shelter for the men. There was
just one run that night to Corps H.Q. in a chateau three miles farther
on.

The morning was clear and sunny. A good, lazy breakfast preluded a great
wash. Then we chatted discreetly with a Paris _midinette_ at the