e," and in
accordance treked away from their old homes with what few personal
belongings they could take with them. The road from Masnieres to
Marcoing was strewn with the pitiful remnants of lost bundles, which,
unable to carry further, sobbing women had cast down by the wayside.

They had crowded in tearful, grateful groups around a few of the
Guernsey and other battalions. Young and old. Old! Bent of shoulder,
white-haired old dames; from whose kindly care-lined faces grateful
tears were fast flowing, poured out volumes of thanks to the Normans in
their mother tongue. Upon old backs that had long since earned repose
were bundles, sad little bundles, tied up in red handkerchiefs.
Ambulances were used for the conveyance of the old and spent to safety
zones. Rough, big Britishers picked up the frail old frames in muscular
arms, carried them with infinite gentleness to the ambulance and
esconsed them securely there.

"'Ow's that, mother. A bit of all right, eh?" And the ready tears would
course again down the old withered cheeks; words would not come; she
could only grasp tightly on the firm young hand. How that lump WOULD
rise in the throat; how one fought to appear unconcerned.

Big, awkward phlegmatic Britishers; unhappy beneath all this
honouring--it makes a man feel such a bally goat.

Thus the people returned to France, while on the ground near by the
still figures smiled serenely at the sky. Perhaps they knew! Renouf, a
plucky, good-humoured Private, walked down just afterwards with the
blood dripping from his side.

The ensuing week, during which the Ten Hundred partook in wiring off the
sector, completion of the poorly-dug trench system, and kindred work,
was ardous not only in the physical sense, but from the constantly
increasing attention of Hun airmen, artillery, and machine guns.
Casualties increased, and of them Death claimed a singularly high
proportion, one unfortunate Lewis-gun team coming in for a welter that
shattered practically every man and ended two young lives in a fearful
state of dismemberment.

Wiring constitutes in itself an operation of fatal possibilities. It has
to be constructed at night, without sound; but posts have to be driven
into the earth; someone will inevitably slip, accompanied by a loud
clatter. Then--ping, ping, ping!!! A hundred rounds fly whining through
the night from a Fritz machine-gun.

The utter wretchedness of that wiring; the sickening knowledge that any
mome