d, and not a few of the poilus paid the toll of
their own eagerness.

"Mon lieutenant, if I return to our own lines," said the Alsatian
corporal, "the general shall hear of this thing you have done. In the
name of my country I thank you," and he held out his hand.

Dennis shook it, and laughed. "There is nothing to make a fuss about,
corporal," he said. "We've taken the trench, anyhow; and as I see our
right brigade yonder, who seem to have been lucky also, I think I'll get
along now and join them."

He was gone before Aristide Puzzeau could say any more, and after a
quick sprint he came up with an English Fusilier battalion consolidating
the position they had just secured.

"Hallo, Dashwood!" hailed a voice, as a very young officer with a very
large eyeglass turned round and stared at him. "You look as though
you've had a rough night of it. Where on earth have you sprung from?"

"I've been with the French for a spell," said Dennis, looking down
ruefully at his tattered uniform. "Where shall I find my crush?"

"Good heavens! they're miles away," said his interrogator, who had been
with Dennis in the same training corps. "Pretty good raid, what? What
price Romford after this? Bet you a lemon squash your C.O. will
reprimand you for appearing on parade improperly dressed."

"I'll chance that, Jimmy. So long, old man," and he threaded his way
past the rear of the brigade, not without some good-humoured banter at
his dishevelled appearance.

It was twelve o'clock in the day when, rather leg weary, he struck the
nearest battalion of his own brigade, and arrived in time to find
himself once more in the very thick of it.

During the fighting on their right General Dashwood's command had lain
doggo, but word had just come that they, too, were now to make a
surprise attack on the enemy's first line trench, and smoke bombs were
already preparing the way for them.

"By Jove! Den. The governor's been tearing his hair about you!" was
Bob's greeting as they met on the fire-step. "You look pretty well
knocked. Better turn in, old man, for a spell."

"Turn in be hanged!" cried Dennis. "Here, Hawke, you've no business with
three bags of bombs. Give one of them to me. I'm going to be in this."

He had scarcely fitted the leather strap to his shoulder when his
brother, who had been looking at his watch for the last minute said:
"Ready, boys! Get over!" And the Reedshires cleared the parapet with a
low glad murmur.

Dennis h