They reached the bay of the trench next to Bendigo, just as a further great utterance was starting on its way. In the excitement of the moment, caused by the General's sudden appearance, much of this gem was lost. What was heard, however, did not diminish the Doctor's alarm. "Howls in the leafy verdure," he remarked anxiously. "Good Heavens, General, he must be up the tree stump!" "That's all right, sir!" remarked a sergeant reassuringly. "'E's quite 'armless. It's his spirit mind, 'e says. He thinks the tree is full of leaves." "Yes--but who is howling in it," asked the General irritably. "I don't hear a sound." "It's his spirit mind again, sir," answered the sergeant respectfully. "There ain't no one 'owling really; 'e means howls wot 'oot." The procession paused awhile to digest this momentous fact, and the Staff officer seized the opportunity to again comfort the Doctor. "Get him at once, old sport, before he becomes homicidal. You never know when the phase will change. He may fish in his tin hat with a bent pin first or he may shoot you on sight, but I'd go at once if I were you. You stand more chance." Undoubtedly the sight which confronted them on rounding the traverse justified their worst fears. The Doctor recoiled with a choking noise and endeavoured to wave the Staff officer forward. "Not on your life, Doc.," remarked that worthy grimly--"not on your life. Go right in; and with your bulk you oughtn't to feel it much, wherever he kicks you." Personally, I maintain the whole thing was rather hard on Bendigo. Before sending him up the line he should have been labelled; some warning as to his habits should have been noised abroad by the town crier. Then the unfortunate episode with the General would never have occurred. He would have made allowances, and withdrawn early for light refreshment. But when a man whose face is of the type peculiar--the sort that you give the baby to play with--practises the habits of fourteen years unsuccessful dyspeptic futurism in a support line trench on a hot day, the result is likely to be full of incident. True--the wretched Bendigo knew no better; but no more did the General. And life is made of these trifling misunderstandings. . . . The entranced spectators stiffened to attention as the procession of great ones--partially hidden behind the Doctor--advanced with due military precautions. Even the phlegmatic and weary Sapper who was assisting the genius, with base utilitarian details, such as the size of the trap door at the back of the proposed model, showed signs of animation. Not so Bendigo. With an expression on his face suggestive of great internal pain, he remained seated on the fire-step muttering softly to himself and clasping to his bosom a large lump of what appeared to be mud.