At precisely half-past two the melancholy Hodson arrived at the school, and escorted Marjorie and Dona to The Tamarisks. Here they found Leonard, and it was a very happy meeting between the brother and sisters. "Leonard shall take you into the town," said Aunt Ellinor. "I know you'll like to have him to yourselves for an hour. No, Elaine can't go. She's on extra duty at the Red Cross this afternoon." "I have to be back in the ward by half-past three," smiled Elaine. "Yes, I'll give your love to Larry. I'm sorry you can't see him to-day, but the Commandant's a little strict about visiting." "We'll concentrate on Leonard," declared the girls. It was an immense satisfaction to them to trot off one on each side of their soldier brother. They felt very proud of him as they walked along the Promenade, and noticed people glance approvingly at the good-looking young officer. After going on the pier and doing the usual sights of Whitecliffe, Leonard took them to the Cliff Hotel and ordered tea on the terrace. Dona and Marjorie were all smiles. This was far superior to a cafe. The terrace was delightful, with geraniums and oleanders in large pots, and a beautiful view over the sea. They had a little table to themselves at the end, underneath a tree. It was something to have a brother home from the front. "Tell us everything you do out in France," begged Dona. "You wouldn't like to hear everything, Baby Bunting," returned Leonard gravely. "It's not fit for your ears. Be glad that you in England don't see anything of the war. There's one little incident I can tell you, though. We'd marched many miles through the night over appalling ground under scattered shell-fire, and were only in our place of attack half an hour before the advance started up the ridge. That night march is a story in itself, but that's not what I'm going to tell you now. We drew close to one of the blockhouses, and the sound of our cheering must have been heard by the Germans inside those concrete walls. The barrage had just passed, and its line of fire, volcanic in its fury, went travelling ahead. Suddenly out of the blockhouse a dozen men or so came running, and we shortened our bayonets. From the centre of the group a voice shouted out in English: 'I'm a Warwickshire man, don't shoot! I'm an Englishman!' The man who called had his hands up in sign of surrender, like the German soldiers. "'It's a spy!' said one of our men. 'Kill the blighter!' "The voice again rang out: 'I'm English!' "And he was English, too. It was a man of a Warwickshire regiment, who had been captured on patrol some days before. The Germans had taken him into their blockhouse--and because of our gun-fire they could not get out of it--and kept him there. He was well treated, and his captors shared their food with him, but the awful moment came for him when the drum-fire passed, and he knew that unless he held his hands high he would be killed by our own troops." "How awful!" shivered Dona.