It was not the place I should choose, ordinarily, to do a bit of sight-seeing.  The German shells were still humming through the air above us, though not quite so often as they had.  But there were enough of them, and they seemed to me close enough for me to feel the wind they raised as they passed.  I thought for sure one of them would come along, presently, and clip my ears right off.  And sometimes I felt myself ducking my head—­as if that would do me any good!  But I did not think about it; I would feel myself doing it, without having intended to do anything of the sort.  I was a bit nervous, I suppose, but no one could be really scared or alarmed in the unplumbable depths of calm in which that British major was plunged!

It was a grand view I had of the valley, but it was not the sort of thing I had expected to see.  I knew there were thousands of men there, and I think I had expected to see men really fighting.  But there was nothing of the sort.  Not a man could I see in all the valley.  They were under cover, of course.  When I stopped to think about it, that was what I should have expected, of course.  If I could have seen our laddies there below, why, the Huns could have seen them too.  And that would never have done.

I could hear our guns, too, now, very well.  They were giving voice all around me, but never a gun could I see, for all my peering and searching around.  Even the battery we had passed below was out of sight now.  And it was a weird thing, and an uncanny thing to think of all that riot of sound around, and not a sight to be had of the batteries that were making it!

Hogge came up while I was talking to the major.  “Hello!” he said.  “What have you done to your knee, Lauder?”

I looked down and saw a trickle of blood running down, below my knee.  It was bare, of course, because I wore my kilt.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I said.

I knew at once what it was.  I remembered that, as I stumbled up the hill, I had tripped over a bit of barbed wire and scratched my leg.  And so I explained.

“And I fell into a shell-hole, too,” I said.  “A wee one, as they go around here.”  But I laughed.  “Still, I’ll be able to say I was wounded on Vimy Ridge.”

I glanced at the major as I said that, and was half sorry I had made the poor jest.  And I saw him smile, in one corner of his mouth, as I said I had been “wounded.”  It was the corner furthest from me, but I saw it.  And it was a dry smile, a withered smile.  I could guess his thought.

“Wounded!” he must have said to himself, scornfully.  And he must have remembered the real wounds the Canadians had received on that hillside.  Aye, I could guess his thought.  And I shared it, although I did not tell him so.  But I think he understood.

He was still sitting there, puffing away at his old pipe, as quiet and calm and imperturbable as ever, when Captain Godfrey gathered us together to go on.  He gazed out over the valley.