pect of a rest, the Battery prepares to enjoy life. Whereupon, Dame Rumor with a joyous whoop, appears in our midst to shatter peace of mind and contentment which is gradually settling down over the Battery. Look inside the Adrian at the edge of town; ten or a dozen men are clustered around an old dis­ mantled forge which stands in the middle of the dirt floor; one energetic young man pumps at the bel­ lows, while another pitches slabs of wood, (salvaged from the bunks of the absentees) into the glowing fire; the bellows wheeze protestingly, shooting up a tornado of sparks from the fire (from time to time), to the great annoyance of the clustering group about it, as though out of spite at not being left alone. The topic of conversation is the only topic which interests us at present.

                "Well be going home 'toot-sweet' ", says a mechanic. "The divisional M. P.'s are at St. Nazaire now; I know that for a fact."

                "What does that prove?" asks a signaller.

                "We're sailing from Bordeaux; I heard Major Blank say so." Gloom begins to settle over the group. "Perhaps they'll split the Division and send part from St. Nazaire and part from Bordeaux," hazards someone. Gloom starts to lift; conversation becomes animated once more.

                The door opens and in steps an O. D. clad figure; on his left shoulder is an horizon-blue Y. D., the fore­ runner of present divisional insignia; on his arm is a brassard bearing the all-powerful letters, M. P. Bang goes the mechanic's rumor.

                "Well, boys," says the M. P. cheerfully, "we're

CONTENTS
INDEX