sibly short time to report. Well, it won't do,
Colonel. There must be something very wrong in your orderly-room; kindly
see to it. Chaplains have other things to do than sit around in camps
waiting the convenience of Group Headquarters. The application for this
order reached us on the 27th, and was sent off early next morning, in
ample time for the officer to travel. I am very displeased about it. You
will kindly apply at once for a fresh order, and see that it is in
Captain Graham's hands at least six hours before he must report. That
is all. Good-morning."

Peter could hardly believe his ears, but he could barely keep a straight
face either. The D.A.Q.M.G. hung up the receiver and repeated the latter
part of the message. Peter thanked him and departed, walking on air. A
day later an orderly from the group informed him at 11 a.m. that the
order had been applied for and might be expected that day, and at 1
o'clock he received it. Such is the humour of the high gods who control
the British Army. But he never saw Colonel Lear again, and was thankful.

Peter reached his new base, then, early in March in a drizzle of rain. He
was told his camp and set off to find it, and for an hour walked through
endless docks, over innumerable bridges, several of which, being open to
admit and let out ships, caused him pretty considerable delay. It was a
strange, new experience. The docks presented types of nearly every
conceivable nationality and of every sort of shipping. French marines and
seamen were, of course everywhere, but so were Chinese, South African
natives, Egyptians, Senegalese, types of all European nationalities,
a few of the first clean, efficient-looking Americans in tight-fitting
uniforms, and individual officers of a score of regiments.

The old town ended in a row of high, disreputable-looking houses that
were, however, picturesque enough, and across the _pave_ in front of them
commenced the docks. One walked in and out of harbours and waterways, the
main stretch of harbour opening up more and more on the right hand, and
finally showing two great encircling arms that nearly met, and the grey
Channel beyond. Tossing at anchor outside were more than a dozen ships,
waiting for dark to attempt the crossing. As he went, a seaplane came
humming in from the mists, circled the old town, and took the harbour
water in a slither of foam. He had to wait while a big Argentine ship
ploughed slowly in up a narrow channel, and then,