n the best of
tempers, and the loquacity of the guide had been jarring upon him for
some time.

The Cockney private, with the air of a deeply-wronged man, sulkily led
on, followed by the dolorous procession. Another ten minutes' laboured
progress brought them to a place where several ways met.

"This is the beginning of the reserve trenches, sir," announced the
guide. "If we'd come the way I--"

"Lead on!" said Ayling, and his perspiring followers murmured
threatening applause.

The guide, now in his own territory, selected the muddiest opening and
plunged down it. For two hundred yards or so he continued serenely
upon his way, with the air of one exhibiting the metropolis to a party
of country cousins. He passed numerous turnings. Then, once or
twice, he paused irresolutely; then moved on. Finally he halted, and
proceeded to climb out of the trench.

"What are you doing?" demanded Ayling suspiciously.

"We got to cut across the open 'ere, sir," said the youth glibly.
"Trench don't go no farther. Keep as low as you can."

With resigned grunts the weary pilgrims hoisted themselves and their
numerous burdens out of their slimy thoroughfare, and followed their
conductor through the long grass in single file, feeling painfully
conspicuous against the whitening sky. Presently they discovered, and
descended into, another trench--all but the man with the tripod, who
descended into it before he discovered it--and proceeded upon their
dolorous way. Once more the guide, who had been refreshingly but
ominously silent for some time, paused irresolutely.

"Look here, my man," said Ayling, "do you, or do you not, know where
you are?"

The paragon replied hesitatingly:--

"Well, sir, if we'd come by the way I--"

Ayling took a deep breath, and though conscious of the presence of
formidable competitors, was about to make the best of an officer's
vocabulary, when a kilted figure loomed out of the darkness.

"Hallo! Who are you?" inquired Ayling.

"This iss the Camerons' trenches, sirr," replied a polite West
Highland voice. "What trenches wass you seeking?"

Ayling told him.

"They are behind you, sirr."

"I was just goin' to say, sir," chanted the guide, making one last
effort to redeem his prestige, "as 'ow--"

"Party," commanded Ayling, "about turn!"

Having received details of the route from the friendly Cameron, he
scrambled out of the trench and crawled along to what was now the head
of the procession. A p