He parted with his former comrades with genuine regret. Despite danger, discomforts, and the rough life he had had a rattling good time in the ranks. Looking back he dwelt only on the bright side of a Tommy's existence. The men of his late platoon were equally hearty and embarrassingly outspoken in their appreciation of Ralph's good luck, because he deserved it. It was not a case of promotion through favouritism: individual merit and devotion to duty had earned a fitting reward. At Boulogne he alighted in company with hundreds of officers and men, the former clad in "warms," the latter in goatskin coats with the trench mud adhering to their uniforms and boots. All were in high good humour, for were they not bound back to Blighty. A long hospital train had come in, and hale and wounded were cheek by jowl until they set out on the sea-journey--the former by returning transports, the latter in the distinctively painted hospital ships that are occasionally marked down as victims by the recreant and despicable U-boat pirates. "Hullo, Setley!" Ralph stopped and turned his head, unable at first to locate the direction from which the hail proceeded. A man lying on a stretcher resting on the platform had attracted his attention. Ralph failed to recognize the voice, nor could he recognize the speaker. The latter was partly covered with a blanket. His left arm was bandaged, while his head was swathed with dressings to such an extent that only the nose and one eye were visible. "Hullo, yourself!" replied Setley. "Sorry, but I can't recognize you." "What, forgotten your old platoon sergeant?" rejoined the wounded man. "Sergeant Ferris!" exclaimed Ralph. "Why, we were told that you had been done in--blown to bits." "Not so very far wrong," replied Ferris, as Ralph placed a cigarette between the sergeant's lips and lighted it. "I copped it properly. Lifted off my feet by a shell, then a machine-gun played the deuce. I got in the next night and here I am." Ferris's brief statement hardly did justice to the man's grit. The calf of the right leg had been pulverized by half a dozen machine-guns bullets, although the shin bone had escaped injury. Two bullets had completely pierced the left ankle. These wounds, combined with shell-shock, rendered the sergeant unconscious. When he came to, the Wheatshires had retired to the captured second line trench and he found himself in the open. Indomitably he started to crawl back. Every inch of the way was fraught with agony. At length he approached a sunken road, but just as he was about to drag himself over the edge a sniper shot him through the chest. At the time he was almost unaware of the fact, except that he felt a sharp twinge, which he put down to a scratch from part of his equipment, but when he gained the sunken lane he again swooned from loss of blood.