race-meeting.

But now the khaki-mills have ground out another million yards or
so, and we have regulation greatcoats. Water-bottles, haversacks,
mess-tins, and waterproof sheets have been slowly filtering into our
possession; and whenever we "mobilise," which we do as a rule about
once a fortnight--whether owing to invasion scares or as a test of
efficiency we do not know--we fall in on our alarm-posts in something
distinctly resembling 'the full "Christmas-tree" rig. Sam Browne belts
have been wisely discarded by the officers in favour of web-equipment;
and although Bobby Little's shoulders ache with the weight of his
pack, he is comfortably conscious of two things--firstly, that even
when separated from his baggage he can still subsist in fair
comfort on what he carries upon his person; and secondly, that his
"expectation of life," as the insurance offices say, has increased
about a hundred per cent. now that the German sharpshooters will no
longer be able to pick him out from his men.

Presently we approach the scene of our day's work, Area Number
Fourteen. We are now far advanced in company training. The barrack
square is a thing of the past. Commands are no longer preceded by
cautions and explanations. A note on a whistle, followed by a brusque
word or gesture, is sufficient to set us smartly on the move.

Suddenly we are called upon to give a test of our quality. A rotund
figure upon horseback appears at a bend in the road. Captain Blaikie
recognises General Freeman.

(We may note that the General's name is not really Freeman. We are
much harried by generals at present. They roam about the country on