“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it, Lieutenant Bedford. I still have sores on my legs.” “Well, what are you doing back here then? Fall out and report to the sick-bay at once.” Lieutenant Bedford was exasperated. Hicks limped out of sight. But after that he did not drill with the platoon. Each day when they set out he watched them from the window of the bare room where his squad was billeted. And each day the sergeant of the Medical Corps secretly treated him for his burns. At the close of a week Hicks was well, and when orders were received for the platoon to move he was quite ready. Then began a dismal time; when, almost invariably, the platoon had been marched into some woods at night and had made their beds on the ground, they would be ordered to make up their equipment and be ready to march in an hour or less. Thus they lived in the woods in the daytime and at night marched from one forest to another. Not even the officers could give a reason for the senseless manœuvring. It was during this time that the rumor became common that they were to board battleships and effect a landing party on the Mole; they also were to be sent to southern France to a rest camp as soon as their barracks near Marseilles had been completed; they also were to be returned to the United States and be split up to serve as recruiting officers and instructors to the drafted men. These rumors, and the occasional rations of cigarettes they were given, helped them to endure their nightly pilgrimages and their cramped daily lives in the woods. And then one day, when they had despaired ever of doing anything but moving through the night from one clump of woods to another, an order was received for the platoon to be ready to entrain on camions at three that afternoon. They did not know whether to rejoice or not.