The First Canadians in France. F. McKelvey Bell

Finally the pair emerged again.

      "What about your horses?" the general queried.

      The horses had been our greatest worry. They came on a different boat, and the two best were missing or stolen. Once Sergeant Honk discovered them in the lines of another unit, but was indiscreet enough to proclaim his belief to the sergeant-major of that unit. When we hurried down to get them they were gone. No one there had ever heard of a horse of the colour or design which we described. We were discouraged, and in our despair turned to the senior major, who was a great horseman and knew the tricks of the soldier horse-thief.

      "Don't get excited," he said reassuringly. "They've only hidden away the horses in a tent, after you chumps recognised them. To-morrow, when they are not suspicious, I'll go down and get them."

      And on the morrow mirabile dictu he secured them both.

      So the colonel answered: "The horses are here, and ready, sir."

      Ready for what? There was a tenseness in the air—a sense of mystery that could not be explained. We listened again, but could only catch scraps of the conversation, such as "Transport officer," "Nine a.m." "Don't take the mess tent or any tents but hospital marquees."

      Something was brewing and brewing very fast. At length the colonel saluted, and the general left.

      "What news, Colonel?", we cried breathlessly, as soon as discretion allowed. And he let fall these magic words:

      "We are under orders to move. We shall be the first Canadians in France!"