It was the longest ride any of them had ever had in a Putney bus, and those on top got very wet, as it rained hard all night. They were dumped down, in the raw of the morning just before daybreak, at the pretty little town of Ypres, in Belgium, and rejoiced greatly at the feel of solid earth under their feet once more. They crowded for shelter into the Cathedral, into the station, into cover wherever they could find it, and in time they got something to eat. In the morning they marched out to a wood, where a British battery was hard at work and German shells came whistling back in reply. And all the way along the road wounded men were passing in an endless stream to the rear, while the shot and shell from other British batteries hurtled over their heads, and not far away was the rattle of heavy musketry firing. There was less light-hearted laughter now and little joking,--just one jerked out now and again as outlet for over-strain. But most of the clean-shaven faces were tense and hard-set, for this looked like the real thing and Death was in the air. Then it was found that they were not needed there, and as the German shells seemed to have a quite uncanny tendency in their direction, they were ordered back into the town. And presently, about nightfall, their motor-buses came rolling up again and carried them off to the little village of St Eloi, and the sounds of heavy fighting drew nearer. The village seemed deserted, so they took possession and made themselves as comfortable as the big guns and their big thoughts would permit. To-morrow, they knew, must surely see them into it and the thought was sobering. Rations were issued and tongues were loosed again, but conversation was spasmodic and joking somewhat at a discount. They were all very tired; to-morrow would be a heavy day, and one by one they fell asleep--for some of them the last sleep they were to know. And Ray, finishing a hasty scribble to Lois, lay down also and slept as soundly as any. They were up with the dawn, and rations and more ammunition were served out. Ray managed to get a rifle and bayonet and found the feel of them comforting. Nothing but a revolver--and a dirk in his stocking--had made him feel very naked and unprotected when bullets would be flying. Now he felt very much more his own man, and ready to repay in kind anything that came his way, except “coal-boxes” and shrapnel which were beyond arguing with. They moved on to another small village--Messines,--where there was a large convent, and not far away, a pumping-mill. The pumping-mill began to turn as soon as they showed face, and instantly German shells began falling thickly about them.