the captains (though myself only boasting two pips). Then one day, in
the lane that leads to the downs, I met Woggles.

I've known Woggles for years and years. Some time ago she became a
V.A.D. and began to drive an ambulance about France; since when I had
lost sight of her. I greeted her therefore with jubilation.

"Oh, Woggles," I cried, "this is a great occasion. How shall we
celebrate it?"

"Well, if you like I'll go back again on to the top with you and show
you the Weald. But I'd much rather you came home to tea. I _could_
make some 'Dog's Delight'--s'posing you haven't outgrown such simple
tastes."

"Oh, if you put it like that," I said cheerfully.

Well, it was a bitter sort of afternoon and growing late. The
annoyance of Bogie (an enthusiastic puppy) at missing his walk might
appropriately be solaced with portions of "Dog's Delight." It's a
large home-made bun thing which used to delight me as well as Bogie's
mother in days gone by.

"I ought to warn you," said Woggles as we walked across the fields,
"that Mother and Dad are out to-day. I expect your dog'll have to take
acting rank as chaperon."

"By the way," I said, "you don't know each other, do you?" I called
Bogie, who was giving a vivid imitation of a cavalry screen protecting
our advance, and made him sit up and pretend to be begging. "Now