After we had listened to a few more details of this wild and remarkable life, the colonel enquired:
"Where are your headquarters? We want to see your O.C. and the rest of the chaps."
"I'll climb in and show you the way. It's in another village a few miles from here."
Under his guidance we soon found ourselves in the town, and we stopped at the entrance of a small house which still claimed a patch of garden in front. The room we entered contained a barrack table strewn with field maps and papers, and on the tile floor were the sleeping bags of the four officers who made this their temporary home. Major Gault, a tall, handsome officer, with the bearing of the true soldier, rose to welcome us.
"It seems good to see some one from home again," he exclaimed, as we shook hands. "I thought we were the only Canucks in Belgium."
"You were the first Canadians in Belgium, but we beat you to France by some weeks," the colonel replied, "and we have come up here to tell you where we live, and to let you know that there is a Canadian hospital waiting with open arms to receive you when you call."
"That's splendid," cried the major; "when the boys get hurt be sure you'll hear from us."
It is just as well we cannot look into the future. We walk blindfolded, clinging to the hand of Hope, and trust to her for kindly guidance. None of us at that moment guessed how soon we were to "hear" from those brave men.
Later, when we were about to start for home, they all came out to the car to say au revoir.
"It's a good expression—'au revoir,'" Captain Stewart cried, as we were parting; "much better than 'Good-bye.'"