e, replied that that was just what the doctor had ordered.

"Where are you bound for?" continued the Major.

"St. Gregoire."

"Of course. You were pulled out from there, weren't you? I am going to
St. Gregoire myself as soon as I have finished my round. Home to bed,
in fact. I haven't had any sleep worth writing home about for four
nights. It is no joke tearing about a country full of shell-holes,
hunting for people who have shifted their ration-dump seven times in
four days. However, I suppose things will settle down again, now that
you fellows have fired Brother Boche out of the Kidney Bean. Pretty
fine work, too! Tell me, what is your strength, here and now?"

"One officer," said Cockerell soberly, "and eighteen other ranks."

"All that's left of your platoon?"

Cockerell nodded. The stout Major began to beat upon the tailboard of
the lorry with his stick.

"Sergeant Smurthwaite!" he shouted.

There came a muffled grunt from the recesses of the lorry. Then a
round and ruddy face rose like a harvest moon above the tailboard, and
a stertorous voice replied respectfully--

"Sir?"

"Let down this tailboard; load this officer's platoon into the lorry;
issue them with a Maconochie and a tot of rum apiece; and don't forget
to put Smee under arrest for dangerous driving when we get back to
billets."

"Very good, sir."

Ten minutes later the survivors of Number Nine Platoon, soaked to the
skin, dazed, slightly incredulous, but at peace with all the world,
reclined close-packed upon the floor of the swaying lorry. Each man
held an open tin of Mr. Maconochie's admirable ration between his
knees. Perfect silence reigned: a pleasant aroma of rum mellowed the
already vitiated atmosphere.

In front, beside the chastened Mr. Smee, sat the Major and Master
Cockerell. The latter had just partaken of his share of refreshment,
and was now endeavouring, with lifeless fingers, to light a cigarette.

The Major scrutinised his guest intently. Then he stripped off his
British Warm coat--incidentally revealing the fact that he wore
upon his tunic the ribbons of both South African Medals and the
Distinguished Service Order--and threw it round Cockerell's shoulders.

"I'm sorry, boy!" he said. "I never noticed. You are chilled to the
bone. Button this round you."

Cockerell made a feeble protest, but was cut short.

"Nonsense! There's no sense in taking risks after you've done your
job."

Cockerell assented, a little sle