At last we got out into the little path, and had to double along through the mud.  Humphry was last man out, and he saw the one and only shell the Boches sent over, exploding quite close to the aforementioned dug-out.

Isn’t it funny.  The Boches don’t apparently know of this dug-out, or of the cable trenches, or they would, of course, smash it to pieces.  And, for some reason that I haven’t yet grasped, they never reply to our guns immediately.  They wait for perhaps ten minutes, and then they don’t always reply to the same spot we spoke from.  As, for example, this wood.  Our guns were all in and round about the wood.  The Boches apparently strafed back at an unoffending village on the west side of the hill.

So, with our guns still behaving like things delirious, we eventually reached the horses.  Jezebel was quietly gorging herself with long luscious grass beside the hedge.  She told me she hadn’t noticed anything unusual.  Poor Swallow was standing quite still, with his nostrils wide open, breathing hard and trembling all over.  A good many horses were trembling, but the majority agreed with Jezebel:  “It’s only some silly nonsense on the part of those Human Beings again.  Don’t listen.”

Then we saddled up and rode back to a place well behind, where we could exercise the beasties.  They had been given no exercise for three days.  And so home again to this farm.  The horses are all in a field surrounded by trees, and couldn’t be seen from above at all.  I have seen lots of other horse-lines of other units, though, much closer to the front than this is—­quite open to view.  The fact is, I think, that Hun aircraft very seldom indeed gets across into our preserves.

[Illustration:  LE MONT DES CATS Near YPRES In the early days of the war spies used to signal from the monastery on the top of this hill.  The country round about is quite flat and water-logged.]

July 6.

[Sidenote:  THE ROADS NEAR DRANONTRE]

Overnight it appears in orders that the roads from ——­ to ——­ via ——­ are to be reported on with reference to their suitability for heavy transport, guns, cavalry, infantry, etc.

So after an early breakfast Hunt comes round, with Swallow for me and Jezebel for himself, haversack rations for us both, and feeds for the horses.  I feel very much on the qui-vive, as I haven’t seen that particular part before.

A grey warm day.  Some miles to go due south before we get near our destination.  As we approach it we find, as usual, roads and railways being made, and fatigue-parties repainting tents with blotches and stripes.  Then come notices, “No traffic along this road,” or, “This road liable to be shelled,” with signboards at every corner, “To ——­” or some other place in the trenches.  Sometimes the notices say “Something-or-other Avenue” or “Burlington Arcade,” etc.—­nicknames, but recognized officially.  And all the time we are