"Guns? And in the open! And on a hill! And wheel to wheel!" cried Barry.

"Thank the good Lord I have lived to see this day. Look at the boys," he added in a low tone, to the Australian beside him.

They glanced over their shoulders and saw two of the orderlies executing a fox-trot in the heavy shell-ploughed soil.

"What's the row?" inquired the Australian.

"Why, my dear chap," replied the M. O., "don't you know we have never seen a gun in action in the open that way. Our guns operated only from holes and corners, from hedges and cellars. Otherwise they'd be spotted and knocked out in an hour."

"Ow!" said the Australian, "our bird men attended to that the first dye of the fight. They sye there was a double line of observation balloons along the lines, ours and theirs up to the 30th of June. The next morning not a Boche balloon was to be seen. Our plynes put their eye out in a single afternoon. Since that time, we hold over them in the air.

Ah! There are the heavies coming up now. The full chorus will be on in half a minute."

A few seconds later, the truth of the Australian's prophecy was demonstrated. The full chorus was on. For two hours the barrage raged, and the din was such that they had to shout in each other's ears to be heard. The hilltops were ringed with darting tongues of red flame as though belched out by a thousand fabled dragons. It was as if the air above was filled with millions of invisible demons, whining, moaning, barking, shrieking in a fury of venomous hate, while at regular intervals came the express train roar of the twelve, fifteen and sixteen inch guns.

"It's almost worth while to have lived through those months in The Salient," said Barry, "to get the full enjoyment of this experience.

Well do I remember the day when our O. C. asked for 'retaliation,' and was told he could have six rounds, I think it was, or eight. Meanwhile our trenches and dug-cuts were going up in bloody mud."

"I think we might as well go below," said the Australian. "They will be coming in presently."

But Barry and the M. O. remained long after the first coming in shells began to drop around. That barrage so long waited for, and so ardently desired, was worth some risk.

Soon the wounded began to arrive, and throughout the whole night, the M. O. and his staff were busy at their work. On the arrival of the zero hour, the barrage lifted.

"Well, good luck go with the boys," said the Australian, fervently.

"They are out and over now. We'll get some of them presently."

Throughout the night, a stream of walking wounded kept flowing in.

Jubilant, exultant in spite of their pain, they bore with them the joyful report that they had shifted the Hun from his trenches and his deep dug-outs, and were still advancing. Singing at the top of their voices, they came limping in, bloody and muddy, but wild with exultation and joy. The day long looked for by the Canadians had arrived. They were getting something of their own back.

The next day revealed the full extent of the achievement. The whole Canadian line had swept forward for over a thousand yards, had captured strong points, a fortified sunken road, the famous "sugar refinery" and, overrunning their objective, had captured the village of Courcelette, as well. It was a gallant little fight, and quite a notable achievement.

After two days the battalion was pulled out, having suffered comparatively slight losses, and more than ready to return when the opportunity should come.

The next three weeks were spent in minor operations, consolidating positions, repelling counter-attacks, and preparing for the real "big go," in which the Canadians were to take their part in the advance of the whole allied line, after which the battalion was sent into reserve for a few days' respite.

The Canadian line was gradually wearing thin, but the spirit of those who survived was the spirit of the whole allied line,--the spirit that claimed victory and was not to be denied. As to the nature of the task awaiting them, however, they well knew that it was to be a fight in which the last ounce of resolution and only the last ounce would carry them through to their objective.

The experiences of the allies during the past months had wrought in them a settled conviction that victory was awaiting them, and a settled resolution that that victory they would secure at all cost soever.

At length the day arrived, a dull October day, overhung with rain clouds and thick with chill mist. On the parade ground the battalion was drawn up for the service which always preceded an attack.

The operations of the past month had reduced the battalion to about half its fighting strength. Only some five hundred men, with officers barely sufficient to direct their movements, looked back at Barry through the mist as he faced them for the service.

"Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation," he read.

The psalm might have been written for the occasion.

"He only is my rock and my salvation; he is my defence: I shall not be moved.

"My soul, wait thou only upon God: for my expectation is from him.

"He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defence: I shall not be moved.

"In God is my salvation, and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge is in God.

"Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him.

God is a refuge for us."

Barry made only a single comment upon the psalm, "Men, nothing can move God, and nothing can move those whose trust is in God. Remember God is to be trusted."

The reading was followed by the General Confession, the Absolution and a brief extemporary prayer, concluding with the Lord's Prayer. As Barry was mounting his horse a runner brought him an order from his divisional chief, directing him to report at the casualty clearing station in Albert for immediate duty. He carried the order to the O. C.

"Look at this!" he stormed.

"Too bad! Too bad!" said the O. C. "Rotten luck for you."

"Look here, sir," said Barry, "I have always gone up with the battalion, and I think--"

"I fancy they are getting on to you, Dunbar. You know you have rather shirked the C. C. S. duty," said the O. C. with a smile.

"Isn't there some way out of this? If I got a substitute--"

"A soldier obeys orders, Captain Dunbar," said the O. C. gravely.

"Yes, sir, I know, but--"

"And he doesn't say 'but'," continued the O. C. "No, Barry," he added in a kindly voice, "I have no responsibility or authority in this. I'd be glad to have you come up with us. We are going into the 'big thing' this time, I know, but perhaps it's just as well. You go your way and we'll go ours. I'd like to say this to you, however, my boy, you have been a great help to me with the men."

His tone was grave but kind, and it sent to Barry's heart a chill of foreboding. "Good-bye, Barry," he added, shaking hands with him.

"Good-bye, sir. Good luck, sir. May I say, sir," said Barry, "that you have helped me immensely with my duty."

"Do you say so, Barry?" said the O. C., a note of surprise in his voice.

"I'm delighted to know that."

"God keep you, sir," said Barry earnestly.

"Thank you, sir. We are in His keeping, aren't we?" and turning in his saddle, he gave the order to advance.

Barry rode with the column to the very mouth of the communication trench running to Pozieres, dropping into step with each company commander for a time, and leaving each with a cheery word of farewell. At the mouth of the trench, he stood watching the men as they stepped down and out of his sight, giving them a word of good cheer and good luck as they passed, and receiving in return answering smiles and greetings. Then with eyes unseeing, he rode back to camp, heavy of heart, for he knew well that many of these faces he would see no more.

The zero hour was fixed for five a. m. the following morning. As the hour drew near, Barry at his work in the C. C. S., found in his heart the words of the psalm, "My soul wait thou only upon God ... I shall not be moved." That wounds and death were awaiting many of them he well knew, and his prayer was that they might meet the fate appointed them with unshaken faith and courage.

By seven o'clock the wounded began to arrive and an hour later the C.

A. M. C. marquee was filled to overflowing with a cue of wounded men forming outside in the falling rain. The suffering in their pale and patient faces stirred in him a poignant sympathy. There was the chaplain service tent adjoining. He ran to find the chaplain in charge.

"Tell me," he said, "may we use your marquee for wounded men?"

"Sure thing. It will never be used for a better purpose."

Barry returned to the O. C. of the C. C. S.