t began to grow light, the two
Americans wondered more and more at the extremely youthful
appearance of their companion. When they stopped at a shell-hole
and washed the mud from their faces, the English boy, with his
helmet off and the weather stains removed, showed a countenance
of adolescent freshness, almost girlish; cheeks like pink apples,
yellow curls above his forehead, long, soft lashes.

"You haven't been over very long, have you?" Claude asked in a
fatherly tone, as they took the road again.

"I came out in 'sixteen. I was formerly in the infantry."

The Americans liked to hear him talk; he spoke very quickly, in a
high, piping voice.

"How did you come to change?"

"Oh, I belonged to one of the Pal Battalions, and we got cut to
pieces. When I came out of hospital, I thought I'd try another
branch of the service, seeing my pals were gone."

"Now, just what is a Pal Battalion?" drawled Hicks. He hated all
English words he didn't understand, though he didn't mind French
ones in the least.

"Fellows who signed up together from school," the lad piped.

Hicks glanced at Claude. They both thought this boy ought to be
in school for some time yet, and wondered what he looked like
when he first came over.

"And you got cut up, you say?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yes, on the Somme. We had rotten luck. We were sent over to take
a trench and couldn't. We didn't even get to the wire. The Hun
was so well prepared that time, we couldn't manage it. We went
over a thousand, and we came back seventeen."

"A hundred and seventeen?"

"No, seventeen."

Hicks whistled and again exchanged looks with Claude. They could
neither of them doubt him. There was something very unpleasant
about the idea of a thousand fresh-faced schoolboys being sent
out against the guns. "It must have been a fool order," he
commented. "Suppose there was some mistake at Headquarters?"

"Oh, no, Headquarters knew what it was about! We'd have taken it,
if we'd had any sort of luck. But the Hun happened to be full of
fight. His machine guns did for us."

"You were hit yourself?" Claude asked him.

"In the leg. He was popping away at me all the while, but I
wriggled back on my tummy. When I came out of the hospital my leg
wasn't strong, and there's less marching in the artillery.

"I should think you'd have had about enough."

"Oh, a fellow can't stay out after all his chums have been
killed! He'd think about it all the time, you know