change."

"The dickens we have!" said Littlewood. "Any chance of their
counter-attacking?"

"That's the idea, old man. I'm going on listening-post to-night, and I
shouldn't wonder if we get it pretty hot. Bob tells me you've had it in
the neck whilst I've been away."

"By Jove, yes!" said Littlewood gravely, "seventy-five casualties last
night. Spencer's gone, young Fitzhugh, Blennerhasset, and Bowles, all
killed. There wasn't enough of Bowles left to bury even--nothing but one
boot with a foot in it--high explosive, you know, and he was only
married two days before he came out!"

"Rotten hard lines!" said Dennis, passing along the front of the
platoon, and stopping before Harry Hawke.

"You and Tiddler are 'for it' to-night, remember," he said, and the two
men grinned delightedly. "Ah, Wetherby! Going strong?"

"A1," replied the boy, as the parade was dismissed, "but I say, we've
got beastly quarters this time. Look here," and he pointed to a mere
dint in the side of the trench with a piece of sacking by way of
protection from the vulgar gaze.

"Hum! we'll alter that to-morrow--it's certainly not palatial," said
Dennis. "I suppose there's none of my clobber come up?"

"Oh yes, it's all here; I saw to that," said young Wetherby, blushing
like a girl, as he pointed to a haversack and a brown valise which
contained his friend's campaigning kit.

"What a good little chap you are!" exclaimed Dennis.

"Not at all. I fagged for you at Harrow, and somehow I had the idea
you'd turn up," and young Wetherby blushed again.

He was a pretty pink-faced boy, who wrote extremely sweet poetry in his
odd moments.

"Well, I'm going to have a shave," said Dennis; "and I say, Wetherby,
you might grope in the kit-bag and put a refill in that spare torch of
mine. I've got an idea it may be useful to-night. Oh, hang this rain!"

The steady drizzle which had set in as the light faded had turned to a
heavy, pitiless downpour.

"What a night!" murmured Harry Hawke, as he lay on his stomach in two
inches of water some twenty yards in front of the trench with his pal,
Tiddler, beside him. "An' me on the peg to-morrer!"

"Bet you there won't be no show," said Tiddler.

"Don't you make too sure of that, Cocky. I'll put a shilling on Mr.
Dashwood both ways, and he's got a notion that something's up."

They both looked round, as a slim figure in a thin mackintosh crawled up
alongside.

"Hear anything, Hawke?" said Dennis.

"