practically out of the danger area by now, but you never know. Some
boring A.P.M. might pounce on the sketch and create a botheration.

Meantime I have been laboriously making pretty maps to present to Sir
John, coloured maps showing where such and such a rise of ground could
be held, or where such and such a road offers difficulties to transport,
etc. But it's not easy to do, and we don't get back to camp till five
minutes before stables, having covered about thirty miles. Besides, we
had to stop and feed ourselves and the horses.

Then stables. Sergeant Hodge reprimanded for not having reported a bad
kick. Southcombe slacking a bit. Must keep an eagle eye on that young
man. At the end a whistle (no trumpets allowed). The horses all neigh
and toss their heads and paw. Nosebags are put on, and after touring
round to see that all is correct we slope off to tea, which Hale and Co.
have got all ready. Luxurious ménage as of yore. But good when you're
hungry, there's no doubt. We are moving again--probably to-morrow.


_July 10._

We have moved. The sixth time altogether. Not far though. A close view
of the sweet-william hill. It must be sketched.

I am sitting on some sacks of corn, wondering why Fritz doesn't lob over
a crump or two, just to wake us up. Jezebel is gorging herself close by.
Swallow eats a bit, and then suddenly looks up and sniffs nervously. I
suppose he has heard a beetle trotting by, or seen a twig fall off a
tree.