"About a quarter to ten: more likely about midnight! Well, get your
bunch on to the road, and--Hallo, what's the matter? Let go!"

The new officer was gripping him excitedly by the arm, and as the
new officer stood six-foot-four and was brawny in proportion, Master
Cockerell's appeal was uttered in a tone of unusual sincerity.

"Look!" cried Angus excitedly. "The dogs, the dogs!"

A small cart was passing swiftly by, towed by two sturdy hounds of
unknown degree. They were pulling with the feverish enthusiasm which
distinguishes the Dog in the service of Man, and were being urged to
further efforts by a small hatless girl carrying the inevitable large
umbrella.

"All right!" explained Cockerell curtly. "Custom of the country, and
all that."

The impulsive Angus apologised; and the draft, having been safely
manoeuvred on to the road, formed fours and set out upon its march.

"Are the Battalion in the trenches at present, sir?" inquired Angus.

"No. Rest-billets two miles from here. About time, too! You'll get
lots of work to do, though."

"I shall welcome that," said Angus simply. "In the dépôt at home we
were terribly idle. There is a windmill!"

"Yes; one sees them occasionally out here," replied Cockerell drily.