n of shells.

At the cross-roads stood a mounted officer, directing the traffic,
which here tended to congestion. As they entered the village, the sentry
halted them to enquire as to their bona fides. Having satisfied him,
they enquired their way to the Menin Mill.

"Menin!" The rising inflection of the sentry's voice expressed a mild
surprise. "The old Mill! Are you going there?"

"Yes," said Barry, answering his inflection. "Why not?"

"Well, sir, you know, it's rather a bad road. Warm bit of country up
there, but--" He shrugged his shoulders in quite a French manner as if
to say it was no business of his. "If you are going to Menin, you keep
this road straight through past Wipers past the Cloth Hall, out by the
Menin Gate. A hot place, that, sir. Then straight on, taking the right
incline for about a mile and a half. You will see a big cemetery on your
left. The Mill stands near a big school on your right. But why not drop
into the dressing station, here, sir, right here in this old mill, which
stands at the cross-roads? You may catch an ambulance going straight up
to the Mill."

"Thank you very much," said Barry. "We'll do that very thing."

"Good luck, sir," said the sentry, saluting.

They found an ambulance about to start, and asked for a lift.

"All right, sir," said the driver, "but you'd better step in and ask the
officer."

They passed into a large and high-vaulted stone building, which in peace
days had been a mill. The old-fashioned, massive machinery was still
standing intact. Obtaining permission from the officer, they took their
places beside the driver of the ambulance, and were soon on their way.

It was already growing dark, but, although the surface of the stone pave
was frequently broken with shell-holes, the ambulance, dodging round the
holes, rushed without pause along at a high rate of speed.

"You don't use your lights?" asked Barry.

"No, not lately, sir," said the driver. "That's the newest order," he
added in a tone of disgust.

The road lay between double rows of once noble trees, centuries old,
with the first delicate green of spring softening their bare outlines.
Now, splintered, twisted, broken, their wounds showing white in the
darkening light through the delicate green, they stood silently eloquent
of the terrific force of the H. E. shell.

As they went speeding along the shell-marked road they came upon a huge
trunk of a mighty elm, broken clear from its stump, lying pa