the regiment had previously taken over from the French. The men with
me greeted them like old friends. Here was the Sniper's Hut, there the
Commanding Officer's. This was the hut in which the brave Joe Waldron
had "gone West," that on the site of one where fourteen of "ours" had
stopped a shell while they slept. Memories submerged us and made us
weak. Even the guiding rope that our men had used to hold themselves
to the trail of nights still held its place for groping German hands.

Beside it lay the fragments of the French signboards, jocular
advertisements of mud baths for trench fever, the _hotel_ this and the
_maison_ that. One of my companions pointed to a larger hut which he
said our fellows had called the Hotel Cecil. The board was missing
now. And no German signboard took its place. Their wit did not run in
so richly innocent a channel.

The huts lay just off the race track in front of the ruined chateau,
buried deep in the remnants of what had once been the beautiful park
of a large country estate. These huts were now the German
headquarters.

There was as much English as German talked there that day. Everywhere
there was cooking going on, mostly in portable camp kitchens.

As we came to a halt one big fellow smoking a pipe observed
nonchalantly: "You fellows are lucky. Our orders were to take no
Canadian prisoners."

The man was so casual, so utterly matter-of-fact and there was about
his remark so simple an air of directness and of finality that there
was no escaping his sincerity, unduly interested though we were.

Another officer said "Englaender?"

The big fellow said "Kanadien." The other raised his brows and
shoulders: "Uhh!"

A younger officer came up: "Never mind, boys: Your turn to-day. Might
be mine to-morrow." Turning to the others, he too said:
"Englaender?"

[Illustration: WOUNDED CANADIANS RECEIVING FIRST AID IN A
SUPPORT TRENCH AFTER AN ATTACK.]

"No! Canadian."

"Oh!" And he appeared to be pleasantly surprised. He asked me for a
souvenir and pointed to the brass Canada shoulder straps and the red
cloth "P. P. C. L. I.'s" on the shoulders of the others. But I had
already shoved my few trinkets down my puttees while lying back of the
trench that afternoon. Scarfe, however, gave up his "Canada" straps.

The young officer gave him in return a carved nut with silver filigree
work and gave another man a silver crucifix for the bronze maple
leaves from the collar of his tunic