The band had ceased playing. They were descending the long winding hill road to the village and the station. As they went along they were joined by civilians, mostly girls, who were waiting in ones and twos. The girls called to their men in the ranks, and they, emboldened by excitement and this momentous change in their lives, dared to answer back. March discipline relaxed, and the draft was already marching raggedly as it passed the first houses of the village. After the dense blackness of the hillside, the light from the few gas-lamps was dazzling. The band struck up again. Although it was past ten, the whole village was awake and in the street to watch them go by. The loud brass music reverberated from the house fronts. The draft were amazed to find themselves for a moment the centre of public interest; for so long they had learned to consider themselves fatally insignificant and subordinate. Voices came from all sides: “’Ullo, Bert! Good-bye, ’Arry! Hullo, Tom! Good-bye, Jack!” Winterbourne in the front rank, looked behind; he noticed that some of the girls had broken into the ranks and were marching with their men, clinging to their arms. They appeared to be enjoying themselves greatly. An exceedingly ragged company surged excitedly through the village, intoxicated by the sounding brass and the cheers and other attentions of the inhabitants. The civilians were not allowed on the station platform. As the draft marched through the open gate, with a picket of military Police on either hand, there was another chorus of “Good-bye, Bert! Good-bye, ’Arry! Good-bye, Tom. Good-bye, Jack! Good luck. Come ’ome soon. Good-bye. Good luck. Good-bye.” They piled into the waiting troop-train, which was to pick up other drafts on the way. Twelve to a carriage. Winterbourne managed to get the window-seat next the platform. The Adjutant came up. “Winterbourne. Winterbourne.” “Sir?” “Oh, there you are. Looking for you. The R.T.O. says you go to Waterloo, and then proceed to Folkestone, he thinks.” “Thanks very much, Sir. It’s so much less tedious when you know what you’re doing and why and where you’re going.” “You ought to have a commission. You’ll easily get one in France.” “Yes, but you know why I wanted to stay in the ranks, Sir.” “Yes, I know, but men like you are needed as officers. The casualties among officers are terrifically high.” “All right, I’ll think about it, Sir.” “Well, good-bye, old man, the very best of luck to you.” “Thank you. And to you.” They shook hands, to the impressed horror of the N.C.O.’s.