good of the war, I should like to know?" replied one of his
companions. "For my part, I am so sick of this terrible life that I
would willingly surrender."

"You had better not let our captain hear you talk like that, or you will
be shot, my friend," said another of them; "though I dare say, if we
were honest, two-thirds of the battalion would agree with you. But it is
very certain the Englishman is not here, and the sooner we get back the
better."

They passed on; and as the crackle of their going among the bushes died
away quickly, Dennis drew a deep breath of relief. He had no idea where
he was, for the whole of that rolling country was dotted with irregular
patches of woodland, his map case was gone, and the balloon had drifted
considerably to the east before it fell.

He knew it would be wiser for him to wait until nightfall and take
advantage of the moonlight; but the desire to rejoin his men was too
strong to be resisted; and after cautiously peering over the undergrowth
he crept from his concealment, and dodged from bush to bush until he
reached the edge of the wood.

There the hum of voices warned him that he was only a few yards from the
parados of an enemy trench--and not a very deep one at that--for as he
parted the brambles behind which he cowered, he could see the round
forage caps and shaven heads in front of him.

For an hour he lay there, watching and listening, hoping against hope
that our fellows would deliver a frontal attack on the trench, which was
thinly held.

Once, indeed, the alarm was given; the enemy manned the fire-step, and
the machine-gunners were on the _qui vive_; but after a while the
threatened danger had evidently passed, for they stood down again,
greatly relieved.

Every now and then a British shell burst in the wood behind him, tearing
off branches and great strips of bark, and bringing the slender trees
down with a crash.

"This won't do, Dennis Dashwood, my friend," he murmured. "The way is
barred here. Let us see how far their trench extends. I'll swear that
was a British cheer on the left." And he crawled back again deeper into
the trees, whose shadows were now falling in long lines as the afternoon
waned.

Taking his bearings, he worked his way from shell hole to shell hole,
now passing through a belt of timber comparatively unscathed, now
encountering a stretch that had been heavily shelled, where the trees
seemed to stand on their heads with their roots in the a