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Good-byes began all over again. A last day with
the Ringwell ended at the crossroads by the old Har-
combe point-to-point course. I went one way and the
hounds went another. Jogging down the lane, they
disappeared in the drizzling dusk. Moflfat's "Best of
luck, old boy!" left me to ride on, alone with the
creak of the saddle. I was due back at the Depot next
day, but we'd had a good woodland hunt with one
quite nice bit in the open, and I'd jumped a lot of
timber and thoroughly enjoyed my day. Staring at
the dim brown landscape I decided that the War was
worth while if it was being carried on to safeguard
this sort of thing. Was it? I wondered; and if a doubt
arose it was dismissed before it had been formulated.
Riding into Downfield where I was leaving the horse
which had been lent me, I remembered how I'd slept
on the floor of the Town Hall on the day war was
declared. Two years and three months ago I had
enlisted for "three years or the duration". It was be-
ginning to look as if I had enlisted for a lifetime
(though the word was one which had seen better
days). Under the looming shadow of the hills the
lights of the town twinkled cosily. But a distant bugle-
call from some camp seemed to be summoning the last
reluctant farm labourer. "You'll all have to go in the
end," it seemed to say, and the comfortless call was
being sounded far across Europe. .. .

On my way home in the train I read about Rou-
mania in the paper. Everyone, Aunt Evelyn included,
had been delighted when Roumania came in on our
side in August. But the results had not been re-
assuring. I couldn't help feeling annoyed with the
Roumanian Army for allowing their country to be
overrun by the Germans. They really might have
put up a better show than that!