e
after another, the officer's body leading. Feet first, of course."

"Very good, sir." The corporal, seeing that the bearers stood ready
at the head and foot of each stretcher, said quietly:

"Bearers, raise!"

All the bearers bent in simultaneous motion, and lifted the
stretchers from the road.

"Slow--march!"

The procession moved off, Monty in front picking his way between the
graves towards those open to receive the day's dead. The Greek
grave-diggers rested on their spades, and bared their heads. Some
stray French soldiers sprang to attention, and saluted. A few
curious British and a tall brown Sikh copied the Frenchmen,
remaining at the salute till the procession had passed. And, when
the open graves were reached, all these stragglers gathered round to
form a little company of mourners.

Having seen the bodies laid by the graves, the corporal bent over
the form of the dead officer, and removed from his breast that small
piece of paper, which was always pinned to the blanket to state the
man's identity: in this case it happened to be a government
envelope, marked "On His Majesty's Service." The corporal handed it
to Monty.

I recall the moment of his action as the last quiet moment before an
unexpected shock. I seem to remember that it was a very graceful
body, long and shapely, that lay there, outlined beneath the
tightly-wrapped blanket. It looked like an embalmed Egyptian.

Monty read the envelope, and frowned. He read it again, crumpled it
up, and looked down at the long, slender form of the dead officer.
Then, glancing round for Doe and me, and catching our eyes, as we
watched him in curiosity, he handed the envelope to us. We smoothed
out its crumpled folds, and read: "On His Majesty's Service. Lieut.
James Doon."

This was the message that the Peninsula had contemptuously tossed to
us.

Monty began the service, but I scarcely heard him. I was staring at
the blanketed form, and thinking of Jimmy as he had been: Jimmy with
all his bitter jests about death; Jimmy grumbling on the _Rangoon_
because he would have to stay at Mudros "till the end of the world";
Jimmy leaving for the Peninsula with the words that he would be back
soon. I thought how strange it was that we should have been sitting
on that G.S. waggon, without knowing that we were taking a last ride
with Jimmy Doon. I pictured again Jimmy being borne into the
cemetery, feet first, at the head of his six dead men.

"Man that is born o