of fine deeds.

He was now about thirty paces from his comrades. The regiment had just
turned its many faces toward him.

From the forest of terrific noises there suddenly emerged a little
uneven line of men. They fired fiercely and rapidly at distant foliage
on which appeared little puffs of white smoke. The spatter of skirmish
firing was added to the thunder of the guns on the hill. The little line
of men ran forward. A colour sergeant fell flat with his flag as if he
had slipped on ice. There was hoarse cheering from this distant field.

Collins suddenly felt that two demon fingers were pressed into his ears.
He could see nothing but flying arrows, flaming red. He lurched from the
shock of this explosion, but he made a mad rush for the house, which he
viewed as a man submerged to the neck in a boiling surf might view the
shore. In the air, little pieces of shell howled and the earthquake
explosions drove him insane with the menace of their roar. As he ran the
canteens knocked together with a rhythmical tinkling.

As he neared the house, each detail of the scene became vivid to him. He
was aware of some bricks of the vanished chimney lying on the sod. There
was a door which hung by one hinge.

Rifle bullets called forth by the insistent skirmishers came from the
far-off bank of foliage. They mingled with the shells and the pieces of
shells until the air was torn in all directions by hootings, yells,
howls. The sky was full of fiends who directed all their wild rage at
his head.

When he came to the well, he flung himself face downward and peered into
its darkness. There were furtive silver glintings some feet from the
surface. He grabbed one of the canteens and, unfastening its cap, swung
it down by the cord. The water flowed slowly in with an indolent gurgle.

And now as he lay with his face turned away he was suddenly smitten with
the terror. It came upon his heart like the grasp of claws. All the
power faded from his muscles. For an instant he was no more than a dead
man.

The canteen filled with a maddening slowness, in the manner of all
bottles. Presently he recovered his strength and addressed a screaming
oath to it. He leaned over until it seemed as if he intended to try to
push water into it with his hands. His eyes as he gazed down into the
well shone like two pieces of metal and in their expression was a great
appeal and a great curse. The stupid water derided him.

There was the blaring thunder of