time this was written.

[14] Curiously enough, months after this was written the author was
wounded by shrapnel.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE MOVE TO THE NORTH.


We left Serches at dusk with little regret and pushed on over the hill
past Ferme d'Epitaphe of gluttonous memory, past the Headquarter clerks,
who were jogging peacefully along on bicycles, down the other side of
the hill, and on to the village of Maast.

Headquarters were in a curious farm. One side of its court was formed by
a hill in which there were caves--good shelter for the men. There was
just one run that night to Corps H.Q. in a chateau three miles farther
on.

The morning was clear and sunny. A good, lazy breakfast preluded a great
wash. Then we chatted discreetly with a Paris _midinette_ at the gate of
the farm. Though not in Flanders, she was of the Flemish type,--bright
colouring, high cheek-bones, dark eyes. On these little social
occasions--they came all too rarely; that is why I always mention
them--there was much advantage in being only a corporal. Officers, even
Staff Officers, as they passed threw at us a look of admiration and