"Everything cleared up now?" I asked briskly, slipping off my heavy marching equipment. "Yes, sir," replied a muffled voice—"very nearly." "In that case," I continued, with great heartiness, "we can get away almost immediately. I am expecting our relief here in five minutes." I babbled on a little longer, to give him time to recover. Presently he turned upon me, and spoke. His face was flushed—absurdly like his mother’s when something had roused her chivalrous indignation. "Uncle Alan, it’s a rotten shame! I had a wonderful scheme all mapped out! It was in Orders, too! We had marked down all sorts of cushy spots for sniping Boche machine guns from. I had an aeroplane map of our sector, with Thiepval, and Beaumont Hamel, and everything! Now, my poor chaps are all sent back to their companies, where they will be treated like dirt; and—I am given a job as assistant office boy!" It is impossible to furnish adequate comfort to a man who has been deprived unexpectedly of his first independent command. I merely patted Roy’s shoulder, and said gruffly— "Discipline, Discipline, Discipline, lad! That’s the only thing that matters!" Roy sat up at once. He was a soldier, through and through. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I am afraid I was mixing up Major Laing with Uncle Alan! That wasn’t the game, was it? My error! It shan’t occur again." He smiled resolutely. "I think everything is in order now. Shall I hand these files over to the Orderly-room sergeant?" "Righto!" I said. "Was that a despatch rider I saw at the door just now?" "Yes—from Brigade Headquarters. He left two messages." "Did you give him a receipt for them?" "No. He slung them in and bolted off. I expect Brigade Headquarters are on the move, and he didn’t want to lose touch with them." "Never mind! See what they are about." Roy opened the first envelope, and extracted a field despatch-form. He glanced at it, and grinned. "It’s lucky we got this before going up into the line!" he observed; and read aloud: _The expression "Dud" must no longer be employed in Official Correspondence._ "It’s a memo from Olympus," I explained: "They mean well, but their sense of proportion is not what it might be. And the next article?" Roy did not reply. I looked up. His face was as white as chalk. He was breathing heavily through his nose, staring in a stupefied fashion at the flimsy pink slip in his hand. "My God!" he muttered; "My God! It’ll break his heart." "What on earth’s the matter, old man?" I leaned across the table. Roy thrust the despatch towards me. "From Divisional Headquarters," he said, mechanically. "The Brigade Major has sent it on." The message was quite brief: _Lt.-Col. E. F. B. Bethune, D.S.O., commanding Second Battalion, Royal Covenanters, will return home forthwith and report to War Office._ Pinned to the despatch was a hastily scrawled covering slip from the Brigade Major: _Passed to you, for immediate compliance, please._