Reggy loved sleep. It was his one passion. Not the sweet beauty sleep of youth, but the deep snoring slumber of the full-blown man. But, oh, those cruel "Orderly Officer" days, when one must rise at dawn! Reggy thought so, too. Six a.m. The bugle blew "Parade." Reggy arose. I opened one eye in time to see a bedraggled figure in blue pyjamas stagger across the sloppy floor. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and his wetted forelock fell in a Napoleonic curve. The murky dawn was breaking. Outside the tent we could hear the sergeant-major’s rubber boots flop, flop, across the muddy road. "Fall in, men! Fall in!" His tones, diluted with the rain, came filtering through the tent. It was inspection hour. Reggy fumbled at the flap of the tent, untied the cord, and through the hole thus made thrust his sleep-laden head. "Parade, ’shun!" shouted the sergeant-major (a sly bit of satire on his part). The warning wasn’t needed. The sight of Reggy’s dishevelled countenance was enough; Bill Barker himself "shunned." Somewhere from the depths of Reggy’s head a sleepy muffled voice emitted this succinct command: "Serg’nt-major; dish-mish th’ parade." "Right turn! Dis-miss!" With a shout of joy the boys scampered off to their tents. A moment later Reggy tumbled into bed again, and soon was fast asleep. And within two hours, at breakfast, he was saying, with virtuous resignation: "How I envied you lucky devils sleeping-in this morning! I was up at six o’clock inspecting the parade." And the halo of near-truth hovered gently about his head. Thus passed three weeks of rain and mud. In spite of ourselves we had begun to look like soldiers. How we ever developed into the finest hospital unit in the forces none of us to this day knows—and none but ourselves suspects it yet. We had, and have still, one outstanding feature—a sort of native modesty. Whatever in this chronicle savours of egotism is merely the love of truth which cannot be suppressed. And then, one eventful day, the surgeon-general came to inspect us. He seemed pleased with us. Presently he passed into the colonel’s tent, and they had a long and secret conference together. Finally the pair emerged again. "What about your horses?" the general queried. The horses had been our greatest worry. They came on a different boat, and the two best were missing or stolen. Once Sergeant Honk discovered them in the lines of another unit, but was indiscreet enough to proclaim his belief to the sergeant-major of that unit. When we hurried down to get them they were gone. No one there had ever heard of a horse of the colour or design which we described. We were discouraged, and in our despair turned to the senior major, who was a great horseman and knew the tricks of the soldier horse-thief. "Don’t get excited," he said reassuringly. "They’ve only hidden away the horses in a tent, after you chumps recognised them. To-morrow, when they are not suspicious, I’ll go down and get them."