y to his own skill as a cultivator. But the
cure was worked in Philip Hardress. The ring of hope came back into
his voice: the "shop-leg" dragged ever so little, as he walked across
the park daily to where the ploughs were turning the grass of the farm
fields into stretches of brown, dotted with white gulls that followed
the horses' slow plodding up and down. The other guests took up a
good deal of Mr. Linton's time: he was not sorry to have an overseer,
since Hawkins, while honest and painstaking, was not afflicted with
any undue allowance of brains. Together, in the study at night, they
planned out the farm into little crops. Already much of the land was
ready for the planting, and a model poultry-run built near the house
was stocked with birds; while a flock of sheep grazed in the park, and
to the tiny herd of cows had been added half a dozen pure-bred
Jerseys. David Linton had taken Hardress with him on the trip to buy
the stock, and both had enjoyed it thoroughly.

Meanwhile the boys at the Front sent long and cheery letters almost
daily. Astonishment had come to them almost as soon as they rejoined,
in finding themselves promoted; they gazed at their second stars in
bewilderment which was scarcely lessened by the fact that their
friends in the regiment were not at all surprised.

"Why, didn't you have a war on your own account in Ireland?" queried
Anstruther. "You got a Boche submarine sunk and caught half the crew,
didn't you?"

"Well, but that was only a lark!" said Wally.

"You were wounded, anyhow, young Meadows. Of course _we_ know jolly
well you don't deserve anything, but you can't expect the War Office
to have our intimate sources of information." He patted Wally on the
back painfully. "Just be jolly thankful you get more screw, and don't
grumble. No one'll ever teach sense to the War Office!"

There was no lack of occupation in their part of the line. They saw a
good deal of fighting, and achieved some reputation as leaders of
small raids: Jim, in particular, having a power of seeing and hearing
at night that had been developed in long years in the Bush--but which
seemed to the Englishmen almost uncanny. There was reason to believe
that the enemy felt even more strongly about it--there was seldom rest
for the weary Boche in the trenches opposite Jim Linton's section.
Some of his raids were authorized: others were not. It is probable
that the latter variety was more discouraging to the