ld opposite a very imposing chateau.

Evidently the fight had gone well, for they passed at least two lines of
hasty trenches quite deserted.

The Germans had at last been driven back!

Any joy that this discovery might have occasioned was sobered and
tempered by the sight of small bodies of men bent double over their work
in the purple twilight. They were burying-parties. Two twigs tied
together and stuck in the brown mounds of earth was all the evidence
there was of each little tragedy. During the retreat the Subaltern had
naturally had little opportunity to realise this most pitiable side of
war, the cold Aftermath of Battle.

I will tell you of the inglorious way in which one man spent this
momentous day, the wonderful hours in which the tide turned, and a
Continent was saved--in chasing chickens! He was the Mess Sergeant, and
it was his duty. Anyway, the Mess dined gloriously off the chickens he
caught, and as a couple of hayricks had been dismantled and distributed,
everybody spent a tolerably comfortable night.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ADVANCE BEGINS

Although they stood to arms at the first flush of daylight on the
following day, they did not march off until nearly eleven o'clock. The
men were moved into the leafy grounds of the chateau to keep them out of
the sun, and beyond the observation of hostile aircraft.

The regimental butchers slew one or two sheep during the wait; but the
meat subsequently proved to be abominably tough, and the fat collected
to oil the bolts of the men's rifles only served to make them stiffer
than ever.

The Subaltern had entertained fond hopes that owing to his recent
unusually long hours of sleep he would not be attacked by the same
nauseating sensations of fatigue; but his hopes were vain. The sleep
seemed to have made things worse. A little rest had developed an
overwhelming desire for more, and he felt worse than ever.

He longed as he had never longed before for long cool drinks and clean
white sheets. He imagined himself at home. What would he do? He pictured
himself in the bathroom eagerly peeling off his puttees as the water
splashed into the pale blue bath. How he would wallow in it! He could
feel how the water would caress his body, tepid and soothing.

On the table in the dining-room, green and cool with its view of the
sombre pine wood, stood a long cold drink of what? Cider, perhaps, or
lime-juice and soda, something you could drink and drink and drink. L