It is only ten o’clock in the morning, but tea—­strong and sweet, with condensed milk—­is instantly forthcoming.  Refreshed by this, and a slice of cake, we proceed upon our excursion.

The trench is full of men, mostly asleep; for the night cometh, when no man may sleep.  They lie in low-roofed rectangular caves, like the interior of great cucumber-frames, lined with planks and supported by props.  The cave is really a homogeneous affair, for it is constructed in the R.E. workshops and then brought bodily to the trenches and fitted into its appointed excavation.  Each cave holds three men.  They lie side by side, like three dogs in a triple kennel, with their heads outward and easily accessible to the individual who performs the functions of “knocker-up.”

Others are cooking, others are cleaning their rifles.  The proceedings are superintended by a contemplative tabby cat, coiled up in a niche, like a feline flower in a crannied wall.

“She used ter sit on top of the parapet,” explains a friendly lance-corporal; “but became a casualty, owin’ to a sniper mistakin’ ’er for a Guardsman’s bearskin.  Show the officer your back, Christabel!”

We inspect the healed scar, and pass on.  Next moment we round a traverse—­and walk straight into the arms of Privates Ogg and Hogg!

No need now to remain with the distinguished party from Headquarters.  For the next half-mile of trench you will find yourselves among friends.  “K(1)” and Brother Bosche are face to face at last, and here you behold our own particular band of warriors taking their first spell in the trenches.

Let us open the door of this spacious dug-out—­the image of an up-river bungalow, decorated with window-boxes and labelled Potsdam View—­and join the party of four which sits round the table.

“How did your fellows get on last night, Wagstaffe?” inquires Major Kemp.

“Very well, on the whole.  It was a really happy thought on the part of the authorities—­almost human, in fact—­to put us in alongside the old regiment.”

“Or what’s left of them.”

Wagstaffe nods gravely.

“Yes.  There are some changes in the Mess since I last dined there,” he says.  “Anyhow, the old hands took our boys to their bosoms at once, and showed them the ropes.”

“The men did not altogether fancy look-out work in the dark, sir,” says Bobby Little to Major Kemp.

“Neither should I, very much,” said Kemp.  “To take one’s stand on a ledge fixed at a height which brings one’s head and shoulders well above the parapet, and stand there for an hour on end, knowing that a machine-gun may start a spell of rapid traversing fire at any moment—­well, it takes a bit of doing, you know, until you are used to it.  How did you persuade ’em, Bobby?”

“Oh, I just climbed up on the top of the parapet and sat there for a bit,” says Bobby Little modestly.  “They were all right after that.”