He was not the only soldier lying there in the mud, but the others, friend or foe, were quite still. The sight of them in the flashes distressed him, yet always his gaze drifted back to them. His mind was a medley of thoughts, from the ugliest to the loveliest. At last, for he was greatly exhausted, his head drooped to his uninjured arm, his eyes closed. For a while he dozed. Then something disturbed him, and he raised himself and peered. In the flicker of a distant flare he saw a shape approaching him, crawling on hands and knees, very slowly, pausing for an instant at each still figure. It made Macgregor think of a big dog searching for its master--only it wore a helmet. Macgregor, setting his teeth, drew his rifle between his knees and unfixed the bayonet. . . . 'Hist! Is that you, Macgreegor?' 'Wullie!' 'Whisht, ye----!' 'Oh, Wullie'--in a whisper--'I'm gled to see ye!' 'I believe ye!' gasped Willie, and flattened out at his friend's side, breathing heavily. At the end of a minute or so--'Ha'e ye got it bad, Macgreegor?' he inquired. 'So, so. Arm an' leg. I'm feelin' rotten, but I'm no finished yet. Ha'e ye ony water? Ma bottle's shot through.' 'Here ye are. . . . Feelin' seeck-like?' 'I'm seeck at gettin' knocked oot at the vera beginnin.' 'Never heed. Did ye kill yer man?' 'Ay.' 'Same here. . . . In the back. . . . Ma Goad!' 'Ha'e we ta'en their trench?' 'Ay; but no enough o' us to haud it. We're back in the auld place. Better luck next time. No safe to strike a match here; could dae fine wi' a fag.' There was a silence between them, broken at last by Macgregor. 'Hoo did ye find me, Wullie? What way are ye no back in the trench?' 'Wasna gaun back wi'oot ye--I seen ye drap--even if ye had been a corp. . . . Been snokin' aroun' seekin' ye for Guid kens hoo lang. I'm fair hingin' wi' glaur.' '. . . I'm obleeged to ye, Wullie, but ye shouldna ha'e done it. Whauraboots are we?' 'I wisht I was sure. Lost ma bearin's. I doobt we're nearer the Germans nor oor ain lot. That's the reason I'm weerin' this dish-cover. But it's your turn to weer it. Ye've been wounded a'ready.' 'Na, na, Wullie!' 'Dae what I tell ye, ye ----!' Willie made the exchange of headgear. . . . 'I say, Macgreegor!' 'What?' 'This is Flanders. Ye mind oor bet? Weel, we're quits noo. I'm no owin' ye onything--eh?' Macgregor grinned in spite of everything. 'Ay, we're quits noo, Wullie, sure enough.' 'If ever we get oot o' this, will ye len' us dew francs?' ''Deed, ay. . . . Wullie, ye're riskin' yer life for me.' 'Awa' an' chase yersel'! I wonder what that girl o' yours is thinkin' aboot the noo--if she's no sleepin'.' There was a pause till Macgregor said awkwardly: 'Christina's finished wi' me.' 'Eh?' 'I couldna tell ye afore; but she had got wind o' Maggie.' 'Maggie! Oh, hell! But no frae me, Macgreegor, no frae me! Ye believe that?' 'Oh, ay.'