"We should never have come," went on Barkleigh. "I said so, away back there on the road. You remember I said so."
"Yes, the first experience under fire is trying," assented Hilda. "I think the shells are the most annoying, don't you, Mr. Barkleigh? Now shrapnel seems more friendly—quite like a hail-storm in Iowa. I come from Iowa, you know. I don't believe you do know that I come from Iowa."
"They're slow," said Barkleigh, looking toward the Town-hall. "Why can't they hurry them out?"
"You see," explained Hilda, "there are only three of them actively at work, and it's quite a handful for them."
In a few moments Smith and Tom appeared, carrying a man with a bandaged leg on their stretcher. Dr. McDonnell was leading two others, who were able to walk with a little direction. One more trip in and out and the ambulances were loaded.
"Back to Pervyse," ordered Dr. McDonnell.
At Pervyse, Scotch and Mrs. Bracher were ready for them. So was an English Tommy, who singled out Ainslie-Barkleigh.
"Orders from Kitchener, sir," said the orderly. "You must return to Dunkirk at once. No correspondent is allowed at the front."
Barkleigh listened attentively, and assented with a nod of his head. He walked up to the three ladies.
"Very sorry," explained he. "I had hoped to stay with you, and go out again. Very interesting and all that. But K. is strict, you know, so I must leave you."