"Yes," he said. "Young Osborne, my best subaltern after Angus, disappeared last month to join it. Tell me, what _is_ the--" "Hush! Hush!" said Major Wagstaffe. "_Méfiez vous! Taisez vous_! and so on!" The battalion moved off. So much for the war-talk of veterans. Now let us listen to the novices. "Bogle," said Angus M'Lachlan to his henchman, "I think we shall have to lighten this Wolseley valise of mine. With one thing and another it weighs far more than thirty-five pounds." "That's a fact, sirr," agreed Mr. Bogle. "It carries ower mony books in the heid of it." They shook out the contents of the valise upon the floor of Angus's bedroom--a loft over the kitchen in "A" Company's farm billet--and proceeded to prune Angus's personal effects. There were boots, socks, shaving-tackle, maps, packets of chocolate, and books of every size, but chiefly of the ever-blessed sevenpenny type. "A lot of these things will have to go, Bogle," said Angus regretfully. "The colonel has warned officers about their kits, and it would never do to have mine turned back from the waggon at the last minute." Mr. Bogle pricked up his ears. "The waggon? Are we for off again, sirr?" he inquired. "Indeed I could not say," replied the cautious Angus; "but it is well to be ready." "The boys was saying, sirr," observed Bogle tentatively, "that there was to be another grand battle soon." "It is more than likely," said Angus, with an air of profound wisdom. "Here we are in June, and we must take the offensive, sooner or later, or summer will be over." "What kind o' a battle will it be this time, sirr?" inquired Bogle respectfully. "Oh, our artillery will pound the German trenches for a week or two, and then we shall go over the parapet and drive them back for miles," said Angus simply. "And what then, sirr?" "What then? We shall go on pushing them until another Division relieves us." Bogle nodded comprehendingly. He now had firmly fixed in his mind the essential details of the projected great offensive of 1916. He was not interested to go further in the matter. And it is this very faculty--philosophic trust, coupled with absolute lack of imagination--which makes the British soldier the most invincible person in the world. The Frenchman is inspired to glorious deeds by his great spirit and passionate love of his own sacred soil; the German fights as he thinks, like a machine. But the British Tommy wins through owing to his entire indifference to the pros and cons of the tactical situation. He settles down to war like any other trade, and, as in time of peace, he is chiefly concerned with his holidays and his creature comforts. A battle is a mere incident between one set of billets and another. Consequently he does not allow the grim realities of war to obsess his mind when off duty. One might almost ascribe his success as a soldier to the fact that his domestic instincts are stronger than his military instincts.