k and question No. 2 Platoon; he may
have gone to the right."

"Arf a mo', sir!" sang out Harry Hawke. "'E is 'ere right enough, and
bust me if he ain't snorin' already!"

Hawke, looking up the steps, saw the group part and General Dashwood
himself come quickly down the ladder, and the store of shot and shell
and the piles of rifles were as nothing to the brigadier as he saw the
boy he thought he had lost for ever lying on the blanket pile, sleeping
the sleep of physical exhaustion.

"That blood's nothing, sir," explained the delighted private, coming to
attention. "It ain't 'is own. I can show you the man wot that come art
of. 'E was that sniper we never could spot, and I reckon it was 'arf me
and 'arf Mr. Dashwood wot killed him." And he gave his listeners a brief
outline of what had happened, as Dennis had told him on their way there
from the tunnel.

"And I sent him out of harm's way, as I thought!" was the brigadier's
inaudible whisper under his moustache, and then aloud he said: "Get
four men and carry him back to his own dug-out. It will do him good to
sleep the clock round, and he will do it better there."

So, oblivious of the jolting, Dennis Dashwood was borne across what had
lately been No Man's Land, and was now ours, and tucked up tenderly in
his bunk, where, if he did not exactly sleep the clock round, he
certainly did not open an eyelid until sunrise next morning.

CHAPTER X

In which Dennis Meets Claude Laval, Pilote Aviateur

When Dennis awoke he saw Captain Bob looking at him, and he became
conscious of a very pleasant odour of coffee permeating the dug-out.

"Oh, I say, why didn't you turn me out before, old chap?" Dennis cried.
"I shall be late for the blooming inspection."

"Never mind about that," laughed his brother. "And it's no use looking
about for your duds; we've moved into new quarters over yonder, and all
our clobber's gone across, but I've had some breakfast brought in here
for you, so peg in, and tell me the whole story. There are some funny
yarns knocking about, and I left the governor doing a sort of war dance.
He only left out the whoop from deference to the B.M.'s feelings. But
all joking apart, old chap, the pater's in the very seventh heaven of
delight, for a letter has come from some wounded French officer who has
recommended you for the Military Medal."

Dennis sprang out of his bunk, fresh as paint, and flung himself on the
coffee and bacon ravenously, and wh