They reported at the station at noon next day, and were told their train would leave at 1 p.m., and “change at St. Oswear.” They rushed to a near hotel and swallowed lunch, hurried back to the train, and sat in it for a solid two hours before it started. It was long after dark when they reached St. Oswear, where they bundled out onto the platform and sought information as to the connection. They were told it was due in any minute, would depart immediately after arrival, and that anyone who had to catch it must not leave the station. “Same old gag,” said Lollie when they had left the R.T.O. “But you don’t catch me sitting on a cold platform half the night. I’ve had some, thanks.” For the sum of one franc down and a further franc on completion of engagement he bought the services of a French boy, and led Bullivant to a café just outside. They had a leisurely and excellent dinner there of soup, omelette, and coffee, and then spent another hour in comfortable arm-chairs until their train arrived. Lollie’s boy scout reported twice the arrival of trains for up the line, but investigation found these to be the wrong trains, and the two friends returned to their arm-chairs and another coffee. Their right train was also duly reported, and Lollie paid off his scout, and they found themselves seats on board. “I’m mighty glad I struck you,” said Bullivant gratefully. “I’d sure have worn my soul and my feet out tramping this platform all these hours if you hadn’t been running the deal.” “I’m getting up to all these little dodges,” said Lollie modestly. “I know the way things run this side now a heap better’n I do in England.” But all his knowledge did not save them a horribly uncomfortable night in an overcrowded compartment, and even when Bullivant dropped off at his station two others got in. Lollie reached his station only to be told his Division had moved, that to find them he must go back by train thirty kilometres, change, and proceed to another railhead and inquire there. He was finally dumped off at his railhead in the shivery dawn—“always seems to be an appalling lot of daybreak work about these stunts somehow,” as he remarked disgustedly—and had a subsequent series of slow-dragging adventures in his final stages of the journey to the battalion by way of a lift from the supply officer’s car and a motor lorry to Refilling Point, a sleep there on some hay bales, a further jolty ride on the ration waggons towards the trenches, and a last tramp up with the ration party. The battalion had just moved in to rather a quiet part of the line, and were occupying the support trenches, and Lollie found the H.Q. mess established in a commodious dug-out, very comfortably furnished. “Yes, sir,” he said, in answer to a question from the C.O., “and I tell you I’m real glad to be home again. I’ve been kicking round the country like a lost dog for days, and I feel more unwashed and disgruntled than if I’d just come out of a push.”