"Take care of yourselves," we cried, "but don't forget if you need us, we are waiting!"
"We'll remember," Stewart returned, "for I have a premonition I'll not be killed in this war."
He waved his hand as we left, and when we looked back the little group, whom we were never to see together again, waved their hands in a last farewell.
After about an hour's run we saw in the distance, set like a jewel of the Tyrolese Alps, the pretty town of Cassel, near which our own Canadian boys were shortly to be quartered. It was about twenty miles in a direct line from the trenches, and soon after our visit the long-range German guns dropped their tremendous shells on its outskirts.
When we reached the hospital a cablegram was waiting for the colonel. He tore it open hastily, fearing bad news from home. As he read its contents his mouth expanded in a broad grin, and he passed it silently to us. We read, and Reggy, looking over Jack's shoulder, had the grace to blush as he too saw his mother's message:
"Greatly worried about my son. No word from him for weeks. He was troubled with insomnia at home. Does he sleep better now? Cable my expense."
And the colonel sat down and forthwith wrote this soothing reply:
"Reggy splendid. Awake only at meal hours. Don't worry!"
Late one night, about a week after our visit to the firing line, we were at the railway yard assisting in the unloading of a train of wounded. About three hundred and fifty had arrived, and we were transporting them rapidly to the hospital. The Medical Officer commanding the train approached me and said:
"I have one car filled with wounded officers, and nearly all are stretcher cases. Will you come and see them?"