And on the morrow _mirabile dictu_ he secured them both. So the colonel answered: "The horses are here, and ready, sir." Ready for what? There was a tenseness in the air—a sense of mystery that could not be explained. We listened again, but could only catch scraps of the conversation, such as "Transport officer," "Nine a.m." "Don’t take the mess tent or any tents but hospital marquees." Something was brewing and brewing very fast. At length the colonel saluted, and the general left. "What news, Colonel?", we cried breathlessly, as soon as discretion allowed. And he let fall these magic words: "We are under orders to move. We shall be the first Canadians in France!" *CHAPTER III* It was exactly 10 p.m. as Bill Barker and Huxford, with the heavy team and wagon, drove up to the colonel’s tent. "Do you think you can find your way to Southampton in the dark?" the colonel asked Barker somewhat anxiously. "Yes, sir. I’ve never been lost in my life—sober." The afterthought was delivered with a reminiscent grin. "Remember, no ’booze’ until the horses are safely in the town; and a glass of beer will be quite enough even then," the colonel admonished him. "Never fear, sir," Bill replied, as he saluted. With a last long look at the camp he said: "Good-night, sir," and the horses started down the muddy road. Why we should still have any affection for that camp in which none of us ever wore a dry stitch of clothes or knew a moment’s comfort, is merely another illustration of the perversity of human nature. Like Bill Sikes’ dog, our love is stronger than our common sense. For a moment we stood watching the team pass down through the lines toward the unknown south, and then we turned in to sleep. At 3 a.m. our camp was all astir, and the dull yellow glow of candles and lanterns shining through the tents dotted the plain. Here and there brighter lights flitted to and fro, as the men proceeded rapidly with the work of packing up. And what a medley of goods there was! Blankets and rubber sheets were folded neatly into their canvas covers; stoves and pots and pans were crated; boxes of cheese, jam and bully-beef, together with bags of bread were carried out of the tents into the open. At one side stood large boxes of medicines, beds, mattresses, portable folding tables and chairs, and a hundred other varieties of hospital necessaries, all packed and ready for transport. By 9 a.m. the motor lorries commenced to arrive. How the boys worked that morning! The pile of forty tons of goods which represented our home, and soon would be the home of many others, sick and wounded, melted away before their united effort. We had come to Salisbury Plain in the rain; it was but fitting that we should leave in a similar downpour. We did!