billets like it. As you see, it stands in this little backwater, and
is not included in any of the regular billeting areas of the town. The
Town Major has allotted it to me permanently. Pretty decent of him,
wasn't it? And Madame Vinot is a dear. Here she is! _Bonjour, Madame
Vinot! Avez-vous un feu_--er--_inflamme pour moi dans la chambre_?"
Evidently the Major's French was on a par with Cockerell's.

But Madame understood him, bless her!

"_Mais oui, M'sieur le Colonel_!" she exclaimed cheerfully--the rank
of Major is not recognised by the French civilian population--and
threw open the door of the sitting-room, with a glance of compassion
upon the Major's mud-splashed companion, whom she failed to recognise.

A bright fire was burning in the open stove.

Immediately above, pinned to the mantelpiece and fluttering in
the draught, hung Cockerell's manifesto upon the subject of
non-combatants. He could recognise his own handwriting across the
room. The Major saw it too.

"Hallo, what's that hanging up, I wonder?" he exclaimed. "A memorandum
for me, I expect; probably from my old friend 'Dados.'[1] Let us get a
little more light."

[Footnote 1: D.A.D.O.S. Deputy Assistant Director of Ordnance Stores.]

He crossed to the window and drew up the blind. Cockerell moved too.
When the Major turned round, his guest was standing by the stove, his
face scarlet through its grime.

"I'm awfully sorry, sir," said Cockerell, "but that
notice--memorandum--of yours has dropped into the fire."

"If it came from Dados," replied the Major, "thank you very much!"

"I can't tell you, sir," added Cockerell humbly, "what a fool I feel."

But the apology referred to an entirely different matter.

IX

TUNING UP

I

It is just one year to-day since we "came oot." A year plays havoc
with the "establishment" of a battalion in these days of civilised
warfare. Of the original band of stout-hearted but inexperienced
Crusaders who crossed the Channel in the van of The First Hundred
Thousand, in May, 1915,--a regiment close on a thousand strong, with
twenty-eight officers,--barely two hundred remain, and most of these
are Headquarters or Transport men. Of officers there are five--Colonel
Kemp, Major Wagstaffe, Master Cockerell, Bobby Little, and Mr.
Waddell, who, by the way, is now Captain Waddell, having succeeded to
the command of his old Company.

Of the rest, our old Colonel is in Scotland, essaying ambitious
pedestrian