Next morning, as they rode, Brigade behind them, through the streets of BÉthune, Peter fumbled in his breeches pocket; found a coin; stretched it down to the boy trotting at Little Willie’s head; took the proffered paper; spread it on his saddle-peak.

“Any news?” asked the Weasel.

For answer, Peter held up the staring headlines.

“Great British Victory,” they read. “Triumph of Staff Work. Hill 70 Ours. Official.”

---

Peter ripped the paper to shreds; flung it in the gutter.