"Hullo, you chaps!" called out a private of the same section, recognizing the three returning Tommies. "Thought you'd been done in. You're marked down as missing. Grub? I've a pannikin on the charcoal fire, and there are some rashers. You've been into the lines of communication? Heard anything of our being relieved?" "Not a word," rejoined Ralph, taking possession of a thin cup in which the tea leaves from the last drinker were still in evidence. Setley had forgotten to be particular in such matters. "Where's Sergeant Ferris?" "Blown to bits," said the other nonchalantly. "We didn't get our promised share of goose," he added regretfully. "Suppose we are lucky to get bacon." The Wheatshires had suffered heavily in the charge. Most of the officers had either been killed or wounded, while forty per cent of the rank and file were out of action. Although they had succeeded in occupying two of the three trenches their failure to reach their objective was galling to the men. Elsewhere the general plan of operations had been successful, and now the battle-worn Wheatshires were consoled with the knowledge that the Huns on their immediate front were in a position that formed a dangerous salient. Either they would have to give back or risk almost certain chance of being surrounded and compelled to surrender. Dog-tired and bitterly cold, Setley followed the example of his chums and threw himself down on the fire-step to sleep. Shelter in dug-out there was none, for so heavy had been the British bombardment that the remaining shelters were in such a dangerous state that the men were cautioned not to make use of them. The constant passing of laden men along the narrow trench, the ceaseless roar of heavy guns, and the intermittent rattle of machine-gun fire failed to keep Ralph awake, yet it seemed as if he had been asleep but a few minutes when he was aroused by a hand shaking him roughly by the shoulder. "Turn out, mate," exclaimed Ginger. "We're being relieved. The bloomin' Downshires are movin' into the trenches." Setley bestirred himself. Fully equipped he rolled off the fire-step into a foot of mud and slush that formed the floor of the trench. If the Huns had had boards they had vanished--probably smashed to atoms or else covered with debris from the sides of the trench with the violent concussion of the bombardment. "Wake that man up!" ordered an officer, indicating a dim form. The man was dead, shot in his sleep. Ralph remembered that the unlucky fellow had asked him to move along and give him room. Had Setley not done so the probability was that he would be lying cold and motionless. Silently the depleted battalion moved along the narrow trench, and with equal caution the goat-skin-clad Downshires filed into the vacated position. It was now snowing heavily, but the Wheatshires paid scant heed to the climatic conditions. They were like schoolboys off for a holiday.