"Turn out, you beggars!" he yelped. "Tiddler, look at this! 'Ere's our bloomin' draft at larst. Give 'em a cheer, boys! Now we shan't be long!" From the barn and the adjacent cottages the Reedshires poured and lined up at the roadside. "Never mind the weather, Now then, all together: Hallo! Hallo! Here we are again!" sang the draft, to the accompaniment of the mouth organs, the battalion joining in with a lusty roar of welcome. "Lumme, Tiddler! They're a bloomin' fine lot!" was Harry Hawke's approving comment. "And if there ain't our little 'ero with two blinkin' stars on 'is blinkin' sleeve! Are we down'earted?" And eleven hundred and fifty throats gave a thunderous "NO!" as the draft halted. Within twenty-four hours of the arrival of the draft the battalion fell in with packs and rifles. The little pillar-box at the end of the barn, with the time of the next collection scored in chalk on the wall, had been filled to overflowing with field post cards for home, and the Reedshires left their billets to join the brigade again. It was all new to young Wetherby, and Dennis seemed quite a seasoned veteran as he pointed out things to his old school chum while they drew nearer and nearer to the thunder of the guns. Contalmaison had already been taken with great slaughter before they reached the firing-line, and the shadows were lengthening as they came to a captured trench and prepared to make themselves snug for the night. Dennis and Wetherby were taking possession of a half-demolished dug-out when Bob made his appearance. "If you fellows have got any coffee to spare, I'll have some with you," said the major. "And I recommend you to turn in all standing, for we're expecting a big counter-attack from the direction of that wood on our front. How have you stood the march up, Wetherby? Feel a bit knocked?" "Nothing to speak of," laughed the new subaltern of A Company. "I'm not too tired to enjoy the fun when it starts." "Well, if our informations are correct, you'll see plenty of 'fun,' as you call it, before sunrise. I've just had a chow with the Governor, and he's as pleased as Punch that we're up in time, for I think it's going to be pretty serious. Our airmen have brought news of exceedingly heavy enemy reinforcements, and the German guns are holding their fire on this sector, which all points to something." "How's the wind?" said Dennis, over the rim of his enamelled mug. "Dead right for Brother Boche," replied Bob, with a smile. "I don't quite understand," ventured young Wetherby, who, in spite of the tan of arduous training that browned his clean-shaven, boyish face, was not ashamed to ask questions. Like Dennis himself, he was not one of those pert modern boys who think they know everything. "What has the wind got to do with it?" said young Wetherby. "Gas, old chap, gas!" replied the two brothers. "The moment you hear the alarm, ram on your gas helmet and see the tube is working."