he wasn't taking any risks. The man he had got beside him to-day was
only wounded in the foot, and had his hands entirely free to do what he
liked with. He looked rather a low type, and at the first sight of him I
thought I shouldn't have cared to be alone with him anywhere on a dark
night.

And then I saw the look on his face. He was purely pathetic. He didn't
look at you. He stared in front of him down the road towards Ghent, in a
dull, helpless misery. These unhappy German Tommies are afraid of us.
They are told that we shall treat them badly, and some of them believe
it. I wanted Dr. Wilson to let me get up and go with the poor fellow,
but he wouldn't. He was sorry for him and very gentle. He is always
sorry for people and very gentle. So I knew that the German would be all
right with him. But I should have liked to have gone.

We found Mrs. Torrence and Janet with M. ---- on the other side of the
street, left behind by Dr. Wilson. They have been working all day
yesterday and half the night and all this morning and afternoon on that
hideous turnip-field. They have seen things and combinations of things
that no forewarning imagination could have devised. Last night the car
was fired on where it stood waiting for them in the village, and they
had to race back to it under a shower of bullets.

They were as fresh as paint and very cheerful. Mrs. Torrence was wearing
a large silver order on a broad blue ribbon pinned to her khaki
overcoat. It was given to her to-day as the reward of valour by the
Belgian General in command here. Somebody took it from the breast of a
Prussian officer. She had covered it up with her khaki scarf so that she
might not seem to swank.

Little Janet was with her. She always is with her. She looked younger
than ever, more impassive than ever, more adorable than ever. I have got
used to Mrs. Torrence and to Ursula Dearmer; but I cannot get used to
Janet. It always seems appalling to me that she should be here,
strolling about the seat of War with her hands in her pockets, as if a
battle were a cricket-match at which you looked on between your innings.
And yet there isn't a man in the Corps who does his work better, and
with more courage and endurance, than this eighteen-year-old child.

They told us that there were no French or Belgian wounded left, but that
two wounded Germans were still lying over there among the turnips. They
were waiting for our car to come out and take these men up. The