“Whoa!” she said to her horses; and then to the corporal: “Which boys do you mean?” “We are the pick of the bunch. That’s Joe, my pal. Don’t you let on that my name’s Albert,” said the corporal to his private. “I’m the corporal.” “And I’m Miss Stokes,” said the land-girl coolly, “if that’s all the boys you are.” “You know you couldn’t want more, Miss Stokes,” said Albert politely. Joe, who was bare-headed, whose grey flannel sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and whose shirt was open at the breast, looked modestly aside as if he had no part in the affair. “Are you on this job regular, then?” said the corporal to Miss Stokes. “I don’t know for sure,” she said, pushing a piece of hair under her hat, and attending to her splendid horses. “Oh, make it a certainty,” said Albert. She did not reply. She turned and looked over the two men coolly. She was pretty, moderately blonde, with crisp hair, a good skin, and large blue eyes. She was strong, too, and the work went on leisurely and easily. “Now!” said the corporal, stopping as usual to look round, “pleasant company makes work a pleasure—don’t hurry it, boys.” He stood on the truck surveying the world. That was one of his great and absorbing occupations: to stand and look out on things in general. Joe, also standing on the truck, also turned round to look what was to be seen. But he could not become blankly absorbed, as Albert could. Miss Stokes watched the two men from under her broad felt hat. She had seen hundreds of Alberts, khaki soldiers standing in loose attitudes, absorbed in watching nothing in particular. She had seen also a good many Joes, quiet, good-looking young soldiers with half-averted faces. But there was something in the turn of Joe’s head, and something in his quiet, tender-looking form, young and fresh—which attracted her eye. As she watched him closely from below, he turned as if he felt her, and his dark-blue eye met her straight, light-blue gaze. He faltered and turned aside again and looked as if he were going to fall off the truck. A slight flush mounted under the girl’s full, ruddy face. She liked him. Always, after this, when she came into the sidings with her team, it was Joe she looked for. She acknowledged to herself that she was sweet on him. But Albert did all the talking. He was so full of fun and nonsense. Joe was a very shy bird, very brief and remote in his answers. Miss Stokes was driven to indulge in repartee with Albert, but she fixed her magnetic attention on the younger fellow. Joe would talk with Albert, and laugh at his jokes. But Miss Stokes could get little out of him. She had to depend on her silent forces. They were more effective than might be imagined. Suddenly, on Saturday afternoon, at about two o’clock, Joe received a bolt from the blue—a telegram: “Meet me Belbury Station 6.00 p.m. today. M.S.” He knew at once who M.S. was. His heart melted, he felt weak as if he had had a blow. “What’s the trouble, boy?” asked Albert anxiously.