t. You're down, so you'll have to go through with it."

So for three days we sat in the open, in the driving sleet, from
half-past eight in the morning until half-past four in the afternoon,
learning the gun. On the fourth day we finished off our course with
firing on the range. Surprising as it may seem, after two or three
rounds we could hit the very smallest object at a distance of four or
five hundred yards.

"How many more courses must we go through?" asked the Old Bird of
Rigden, as they strolled back one evening from the range. The Old Bird
was always interested in how much--or, rather, how little--work he had
before him.

"There's the machine gun; the signalling course,--you'll have to work
hard on that, but I know you don't object,--and also revolver
practice. Aren't you thrilled?"

"No, I'm not," grumbled the Old Bird. "Life isn't worth living with
all this work to do. I wish we could get into action."

"So do I," said Talbot, joining them. "But while we're waiting,
wouldn't you rather be back here with good warm billets and a
comfortable bed and plenty to eat, instead of sitting in a wet trench
with the Infantry?" He remembered an old man in his regiment who had
been with the Salvation Army at home. He would stump along on his flat
feet, trudging miles with his pack on his back, and Talbot had never
heard him complain. He was bad at drill. He could never get the orders
or formations through his head. Talbot had often lost patience with
him, but the old fellow was always cheerful. One morning, in front of
Bapaume, after a night of terrible cold, the old man could not move.
Talbot tried to cheer him up and to help him, but he said feebly: "I
think I'm done for--I don't believe I shall ever get warm. But never
mind, sir." And in a few minutes he died, as uncomplainingly as he had
lived.

"You're right, of course, Talbot," the Old Bird said. "We're very well
off here. But, I say, how I should like to be down in Boulogne for a
few days!" And until they reached the Mess, the Old Bird dilated on
the charm of Boulogne and all the luxuries he would indulge in the
next time he visited the city.

The rest of that week found us each day parading at eight o'clock in
the courtyard of the Hospice, and after instruction the various
parties marched off to their several duties. Some of us went to the
tankdrome; some of us to the hills overlooking historic Agincourt,
and others to the barn by the railroad where we prac