ddition to
their prolonged and strenuous labours in the trenches, the Hairy Jocks
had taken part in a Push--a part not altogether unattended with glory,
but prolific in casualties. They had not been "pulled out" to rest and
refit for over six months, for Divisions on the Western Front were not
at that period too numerous, the voluntary system being at its last
gasp, while the legions of Lord Derby had not yet crystallised out of
the ocean of public talk which held them in solution. So the Seventh
Hairy Jocks were bone tired. But they were as hard as a rigorous
winter in the open could make them, and--they were going back to rest
at last. Had not their beloved C.O. told them so? And he had added, in
a voice not altogether free from emotion, that if ever men deserved a
solid rest and a good time, "you boys do!"

So the Hairy Jocks trudged along the long, straight, nubbly French
road, well content, speculating with comfortable pessimism as to the
character of the billets in which they would find themselves.

Meanwhile, ten miles ahead, the advance party were going round the
town in quest of the billets.

Billet-hunting on the Western Front is not quite so desperate an
affair as hunting for lodgings at Margate, because in the last
extremity you can always compel the inhabitants to take you in--or at
least, exert pressure to that end through the _Mairie_. But at the
best one's course is strewn with obstacles, and fortunate is the
Adjutant who has to his hand a subaltern capable of finding lodgings
for a thousand men without making a mess of it.

The billeting officer on this, as on most occasions, was our
friend Cockerell,--affectionately known to the entire Battalion as
"Sparrow,"--and his qualifications for the post were derived from
three well-marked and invaluable characteristics, namely, an imperious
disposition, a thick skin, and an attractive _bonhomie_ of manner.

Behold him this morning dismounting from his horse in the _place_
of St. Gregoire. Around him are grouped his satellites--the
Quartermaster-Sergeant, four Company Sergeants, some odd orderlies,
and a forlorn little man in a neat drab uniform with light blue
facings,--the regimental interpreter. The party have descended, with
the delicate care of those who essay to perform acrobatic feats in
kilts, from bicycles--serviceable but appallingly heavy machines
of Government manufacture, the property of the "Buzzers," but
commandeered for the occasion. The Q