Back again, but back to a sad and very unhappy barracks. Fat, poor, poor Fat, who felt downcast because he was not going South, has gone on a far longer journey. It is the first tragedy that has come into our life here in our barracks and with the thoughts of the breaking up of the big family on the morrow, and the homesickness, that most of us feel because of our all too brief trips home, has cast a gloom over us all.

Unfortunate Fat, done out of using his pass by the slowness of the army tailors, telephoned home yesterday to have his mother come out to see him. At train time this morning he was at the terminal awaiting her arrival. But in the shifting of the cars back and forth in the yard an accident happened and Fat, in the way of it, was one of its victims. Both his legs were crushed and he was hurried away to the hospital.

Meanwhile, his grey-haired old mother arrived and stood about the terminal hour after hour wondering why he did not come for her, and it was not until late this afternoon that one of the boys in our company thought to go down and try and find her; which, fortunately, was not too late to bid her son good-bye.

And now we are on the eve of our departure. As I came through the terminal an hour ago the troop train, a long line of nondescript coaches, was being made up. As each car was made ready it was shunted into line by the ever-grumbling engine and to-morrow at daybreak all will be ready for us. Then we will go and some of us will be sorry, and some of us will be glad. As for myself, all that I can say is “Adieu, camp,” and if the place I am bound for, wherever it may be, holds the charms that I’ve found here, I’ll be happy.