For an hour they continued their route, getting uncomfortably damp during the process; and then they were halted and told that they might lie down. Some of the men lit their pipes, and Dennis would have dearly loved a cigarette; but he was afraid that the odour might betray him, so he contented himself with curling up between his two new acquaintances and went to sleep. He had no plans; everything must depend upon chance and what the daylight showed him; and when the man on his right shook him and he rose to his feet, he saw that they were on the bank of a navigation canal. Behind them the mist was curling from the water meadows of Picardy, and along the river tall poplars lifted their heads above the fog. "Do you know what we are going to do, Kamerad?" he said to the much-wounded man. "Die, I hope," was the response. Circumstances had not unnaturally made him a pessimist. The roll was being called, but the fog was so thick that one could hardly see the sergeant and his notebook; and keeping his lips tight, Dennis was overlooked, and nobody noticed it. It so happened that the real Carl Heft belonged to another company, and was marked absent on duty at Divisional Headquarters. There was a bread distribution, and Dennis got his share. It was black, but distinctly palatable, and was better than the coffee that was served out later on. He knew the masquerade could not last for ever, and at kit inspection the moment he had been dreading came. Luckily for him the sergeant was a good-humoured fellow, although he opened his eyes with a start when he saw that the boyish-looking private in front of him had no belts. "Where is your equipment?" he said. "I left it behind me, sergeant," replied Dennis. "We were mustered so quickly that I had no time to go to our dug-out, which was at the other end of the trench close to the big crater." "Ha! We have cause to remember that crater, is it not so?" said the sergeant gravely. "Eighteen men and two officers it cost us, and that was why I was appointed to this company three days ago. What is your name?" "Carl Heft, sergeant." "Carl Heft? Were you not attached to headquarters? What are you doing here?" Dennis lowered his voice. "It is like this, sergeant," he said. "I want to be a soldier, not a clerk. I have not fired a shot at the enemy for two months, and when the order came to fall in I could not resist it." The sergeant raised his eyebrows, and then a smile crept into his face. "My boy, you are in the way to get into trouble, but never mind; I like your spirit, and I will see what I can do for you. Can you throw bombs?" "Ja." "Very well, you shall join the bombers; and presently I will bring you a bag of sweetmeats of the sort the French do not find to their liking."