"Frazer naturally moved heaven and earth to get leave in January, 1916, and on the evening of the anniversary of his adventure appeared at the box office of the theatre and asked for a stall. ’Have you by any chance a letter for me?’ he said, giving his name. The clerk handed him an envelope, and Frazer, eagerly opening it, read this short line: ’It is a fine boy. Thank you.’" "What is still more strange," said the doctor with sarcasm, "is that another good-looking lad told me the same story some time before the war, and that that time he was the hero of it." "Then this lady must have several children," said the colonel. *CHAPTER XIII* EXTRACTS FROM AURELLE’s DIARY Hondezeele, January 19—. Madame Lemaire has presented the Mess with a bottle of old brandy, and the doctor is in very good form this evening. He is the true Irish type; a lover of surprising epigrams. He says, "We owe to the Middle Ages the two worst inventions of humanity—romantic love and gunpowder." Again, "The whole reason of this War is because the Germans have no sense of humour." But, above all, you must hear his scientific and precise demonstration of his favourite theory: "Two telegrams contrary in sense, and from officers equal in rank, cancel one another." January 4th. Rode with the colonel and Parker. How delicate and clear the atmosphere is in this northern part of France! The colonel was highly indignant to hear that I have never been out hunting. "You _must_, messiou, it is the only sport. You jump banks as high as your horse. At eighteen I had nearly broken my neck twice. It is most exciting." "Yes," said Parker, "one day I was galloping in a wood and a branch went into my right eye. It is a miracle I wasn’t killed. Another time——" He described how his horse fell on the top of him and broke two of his ribs. Then both of them together, certain of having convinced me: "You must hunt after the War, messiou." January 7th. This morning, I do not know why, some French troops came through Hondezeele. The village and I were delighted. We like the shrill bagpipes, but no music in the world is like "Sidi-Brahim" and "Sambre-et-Meuse." I was pleased, too, to be able to show Parker these Chasseurs à pied, as all he had seen of our army were old Territorials. He was much impressed. "They are as fine as the Highlanders," he told me. And then he described the Lennox as they were when he joined as second lieutenant in Egypt. "I was forbidden to speak at Mess for six months. An excellent practice! It taught us to realize how humble we were, and the respect due to our elders. "If some ’swelled head’ did not conform to these rules, he soon found his things all packed up in his room, labelled for England. If he still refused to understand, he was called up before a subaltern’s court-martial, and heard some home truths about himself.