mind he used to say to us in the trenches: 'It bain't no use grousing.
What mun be, mun be.' Terrible strong he were, too. One of our officers
wur hit in front of the parapet and we coulden get 'n in nohow--'twere
too hot; and Hunt, he unrolled his puttees and made a girt rope of 'em
and threw 'em over the parapet and draw'd en in. Ah! that a did."

It was in one of the surgical tents of "No. 6 General" at the base. The
middle of the ward was illuminated by an oil-lamp, shaped like an
hour-glass, which shed a circle of yellow radiance upon the faces of the
nurse and the orderly officer, as they stood examining a case-sheet by
the light of its rays. Beyond the penumbra were rows of white beds, and
in the farthest corner lay the subject of our discourse. "Can I talk to
him?" I said to the nurse. "Yes, if you don't stay too long," she
replied briskly, "and don't question him too much. He's in a bad way,
his wounds are very septic."

He nodded to me as I approached. At the head of the bed hung a
case-sheet and temperature-chart, and I saw at a glance the
superscription--


Hunt, George, Private, No. 1578936 B Co. ---- Wiltshires.


I noticed that the temperature-line ran sharply upwards on the chart.

"So you're a Wiltshireman?" I said. "So am I." And I held out my hand.
He drew his own from beneath the bedclothes and held mine in an iron
grip.