, day by
day, month by month, and they were grimly jubilant over the chance which
the Somme offered them of evening somewhat the score.

"We have something to hand Fritzie," young Pickles was heard to remark
when he had learned of the quality of the Somme fighting, "and I hope
he'll like it, for he's got to take it."

The battalion ranks, both officers and men, had once more been filled
up. They had a brief fortnight's training in the new open fighting under
barrage and then set off cheerfully for the "Big Game." Ten days they
marched and countermarched in the back country, keeping clear of those
two mighty streams "up" and "down," that flowed between ditches and
hedges along the road that led to the great arena, and catching glimpses
and echoes as they marched until, hard, fit, keen, they joined the
"upstream" flowing toward Albert. That stream was made up of those
various and multifarious elements that go to constitute, equip and
maintain a modern army.

There were marching battalions, with their mounted officers, bearing
names and insignia famous in the world's wars for two hundred years, and
with them battalions who a few brief months ago were peaceful citizens,
knowing nothing of war. There were transport columns, ammunition
columns, artillery columns, with mounted escorts. There were big guns,
on huge caterpillar trucks, shouldering the lighter traffic to the
ditches, and little guns slipping meekly in their rear. There were motor
lorries, honking and thundering their insistent way through dodging,
escaping, cursing infantry, forty-six miles of them to a single army
corps. There were strings of mules and horses with weirdly shaped
burdens on their pack saddles. There were motor cars bearing "Brass
Hats," gentle looking individuals, excessively polite, yet somehow
getting men to jump when they spoke, and everywhere ambulances, silent
and swift moving, before whose approach the stream parted in recognition
of the right of way of these messengers of mercy over all the enginery
of war.

The "down stream" was much the same, with here and there differences.
That stream flowed more swiftly. The battalions marched with more
buoyant tread. They had done their part and without shame. They had met
their foes and seen their backs. The trucks, transport and ammunition
wagons were empty and coming with a rush. Only the ambulances moved more
slowly. Carefully, with watchful avoidance of ruts and holes, which,
in spite of th