got it bad," said a friend of McPhail's; "they told me at the
dressing station that he was in no fit condition to be removed, but
they had to do it."

"You don't mean to say he's going to die!" said Tom.

"Nay, I don't think it's so bad as that," replied the other, "but he's
got it bad."

When Tom arrived at the little town where the hospital was situated he
immediately asked for permission to see the wounded man.

The nurse shook her head. "I doubt if you can," she replied.

"Is he very bad?" asked Tom.

The nurse nodded. "Very bad indeed," she replied; "he was wounded the
other morning when the attack was made. We seem to have lost a number
of men."

"Yes," said Tom, "I was there and I heard that the Black Watch were
called up."

For a few seconds there was a silence between them, while Tom scanned
the nurse's face closely.

"Do you mean to say he's going to die?" asked Tom, and his voice
trembled a little.

The nurse nodded. "I am afraid so," she said. "He's too ill to see
any one, and I doubt if he would know you."

"I am sure he would like to see me," said Tom pleadingly; "you see we
were pals in Lancashire, and we saw a goodish bit of each other while
we were in the camp in Surrey. I would like to see him if I could, I
would really."

"Well, I shall have to speak to the doctor," was the nurse's reply.
"Will you wait here? I won't be long before I'm back."

A curious feeling came into Tom's heart. He did not know very much
about McPhail, but he recalled the conversations that they had had in
Lancashire, and he vividly remembered the night before they had started
for the Front. McPhail had been very much wrought upon then. Tom had
watched his face while they sat together in the Y.M.C.A. hut when the
speaker was telling them about the deep needs of their lives.
McPhail's face had become set and stern, although his lips quivered.
Afterwards when they had gone to the canteen the Scotchman had uttered
words which Tom never forgot.

He wondered now if McPhail had meant what he said, wondered too if he
had realised the same experiences which he, Tom, had passed through.
It seemed awful that this tall, stalwart Scotchman was going to die.
Why should men be killed in this way? Why should that lonely
Scotchwoman, McPhail's mother, have to suffer because of German sins?

The nurse came back to him. "He wants to see you," she said, "and the
doctor says he may. He's been asking for you."

"As