ing of the
Eternal God of Truth and Justice and Mercy, asking that they might be
found steadfast in their hour of testing and worthy of their country and
their cause.

Together they joined in the Lord's prayer; then lifting over them his
hands, he closed the little service with that ancient and beautiful
formula of blessing, which for two thousand years has sent men out from
the Holy Place of Meeting to face with hearts resolved whatever life
might hold for them.

One by one, as they passed out the officers shook hands with Barry,
thanking him for the service, and expressing their delight that he was
with them again.

"What are we going to do with you, Pilot?" inquired the colonel.

"I thought I'd stick around with the boys," said Barry.

"Well," said the colonel, gravely, "of course, there's no use of your
going up to the attack. You would only be in the way. You would be an
embarrassment to the officers. That reminds me, there was a call from
Menin Mill for you this afternoon. They are having an awful rush there.
Our own R. A. P. will be in Zillebeck Village, and our Headquarters will
be there."

"I'll go there, sir, if you agree," said Barry, and after some
discussion the matter was so arranged.

In a ruined cellar in the village of Zillebeck, a mile and a half
further in, the R. A. P. was established and there carried on during
the desperate fighting of the next three days. Through this post a
continuous stream of wounded passed, the stretcher cases all night, the
walking cases all day and all night. In spite of its scenes of horror
and suffering the R. A. P. was a cheery spot. The new M. O. was strange
to his front line business, but he was of the right stuff, cool, quick
with his fingers, and undisturbed by the crashing of bursting shells.
The stretcher bearers and even the wounded maintained an air of resolute
cheeriness, that helped to make bearable what otherwise would have been
a nightmare of unspeakable horror. Attached to the R. A. P. was an outer
building wherein the wounded men were laid after treatment. Thither in a
pause of his work, Barry would run to administer drinks, ease the strain
of an awkward position, speak a word of cheer, say a prayer, or sing
snatches of a hymn or psalm. There was little leisure for reflection,
nor if there had been would he have indulged in reflection, knowing well
that only thus could he maintain his self-control and "carry on."

With each wounded man there came n