They splashed and floundered along roads a foot deep in slime to get to their advance trenches, where the mud and water were at times up to their waists. They sank and stuck bodily in affectionately glutinous mixtures which would not let them go till at times they paid toll of shoes and almost of the feet inside them. For ten days at a time, on occasion, they never had their boots off--unless the mud took them by force,--nor their sodden clothes. They were plastered with mud from head to foot. Their kilts, water-logged and frozen and tagged with mud, scored their bare legs. They ate in mud, they slept in mud. And when their off-time came, if they could find a blanket to wrap round their muddy bodies before depositing them on a stony floor in the rear, they thanked God for it and accounted themselves rich, and slept like troopers. Circumstances rendered full compliance with the vehement General’s exhortations impossible, but what they could they did,--they cocked their bonnets, and for God’s sake and their country’s, they smiled. It was the most wonderful and soul-bracing exhibition of the power of mind over matter that Ray Luard had ever seen, and he would not have missed his share in it for any money. At times they had a few days’ rest in the rear,--for the time being no longer actual targets for shells though an occasional one came closer than was necessary to their comfort, but the sound of the guns was never out of their ears, and at all times they were liable to sudden urgent summons to stiffen the front against unexpected assault. It snowed, and it sleeted, and it rained and froze, and the trampled mud of the highways and byways got deeper and deeper and ever more tenacious in its grip on them. At the rear they slept off their first dog-tiredness and had hot baths and an occasional impromptu concert. They ate and drank in peace and comparative comfort, and always, for God’s sake and their country’s, they smiled. And now and again,--impressive under such circumstances even to the most frivolous,--they had Church Parade and Communion. Then, rest-time over, away back to the water-logged trenches and all the stress and strain, and the ever-present chance of sudden death. Ray’s great time came about the end of January, when the Hodden-Grays were sent to hold some trenches in a brickfield, and they had barely taken possession when, in the early morning, the enemy made a dead set all along that portion of the line and succeeded in denting it in places. They had quietly sapped up close to the advance trench and mined it. They fired their mines, threw in smoky bombs, and in the confusion got in under cover of the smoke with the bayonet. The Scots gave them a warm welcome, and there was some very pretty fighting in the dark, and many a fine deed done of which none but the doers and the done ever heard a word. But, as it chanced, Ray’s doings stood out somewhat prominently.