"SIR W. BLINT, BART."
Below this he cut a deep, white oblong in the bark, and with a coal from the burned airplane he wrote:
"THIS IS THE BEGINNING, NOT THE END. THIS ENGLISHMAN STILL CARRIES ON!"
He stood at salute for a full minute. Then turned, dropped to his knees, and began another thorough search among the debris and dead leaves.
"Hello, Yellow-hair!"
She had been watching his approach from where she was seated balanced on the stream's edge, with both legs in the water to the knees.
He came up and dropped down beside her on the moss.
"A dead airman in Les Errues," he said quietly, "a Britisher. I put away what remained of him. The Huns may dig him up: some animals do such things."
"Where did you find him, Kay?" she asked quietly.
"A quarter of a mile down-stream. He lay on the west slope. He had fallen clear, but there was not much left of his machine."