“Och, it’s naething!  A body gets used tae it,” Mr. Bogle assured him.

Angus was about to proceed further with the discussion, when the cold and disapproving voice of the Draft-Sergeant announced in his ear—­

“An officer wishes to speak to you, sir.”

Second-Lieutenant M’Lachlan, suddenly awake to the enormity of his conduct, turned guiltily to greet the officer, while the Sergeant abruptly hunted the genial Private Bogle back into the ranks.

Angus found himself confronted by an immaculate young gentleman wearing two stars.  Angus, who only wore one, saluted hurriedly.

“Morning,” observed the stranger.  “You in charge of this draft?”

“Yes, sir,” said Angus respectfully.

“Right-o!  You are to march them to ‘A’ Company billets.  I’ll show you the way.  My name’s Cockerell.  Your train is late.  What time did you leave the Base?”

“Indeed,” replied Angus meekly, “I am not quite sure.  We had barely landed when they told me the train would start at seventeen-forty.  What time would that be—­sir?”

“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 depot at home we were terribly idle.  There is a windmill!”

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

“Everything is so strange!” confessed the open-hearted Angus.  “Those dogs we saw just now—­the people with their sabots—­the country carts, like wheelbarrows with three wheels—­the little shrines at the cross-roads—­the very children talking French so glibly—­”

“Wonderful how they pick it up!” agreed Cockerell.  But the sarcasm was lost on his companion, whose attention was now riveted upon an approaching body of infantry, about fifty strong.

“What troops are those, please?”

Cockerell knitted his brows sardonically.