As they were repeating together the prayer “Our Father,” the notes of the reveille sounded shrilly over the camp.
“Go out, Hobbs, for a minute,” said Barry after they had risen from their prayer. He knew well that Cameron would want a few minutes with him alone.
“Sir,” said the boy, and his voice was quiet and steady, “I'm not going to try to thank you, but I believe I can 'carry on' now.”
“You bet you can,” said Barry, gripping his hand. “You bet you can! It's the point of view after all, old man, isn't it? For ourselves it doesn't matter, but we have got to think of the boys, and we have got to stay with the game.”
Eighteen hours later the relief was completed, and the battalion was in its place in the line, all but the sentries asleep in their flimsy dugouts and behind their rotten parapets.
An hour later, Barry, who was sleeping with the M. O. in the regimental aid post, was wakened from a dead sleep by the M. O.
“There's something doing out there,” he said. “Listen!”
There was a quick succession of sharp explosions.
“Bombs!” said the M. O.
The explosions were followed by the rat-tat-tat—tat-tat—tat-tat-tat of the machine guns. Instantly they were both on their feet and out in the trench.