rd of an outpost, but a listening-post was a new one on me. These
were very early days in the war. The Imperial soldiers had recently
established this new system, and as yet it was not a matter of common
knowledge.

This war is either so old-fashioned in its methods or so new-fashioned--in
my opinion it is both--that it is continuously changing. The soldier may be
drilled well in his own land, if he comes from overseas; he may be
additionally trained in England; he may have a couple of weeks at the base
in France, but it is all the same--when he reaches the front line trenches
there will have been a change, an improvement, in some thing or other. It
may be but a detail, it may be but a new name for an old familiar job, but
changed it is.

The best soldier in the fighting to-day is the type of man who can adapt
himself to anything. He must have initiative; he must have resource; he
must have individuality; he must be a distinct and complete unit in
himself, ready for any emergency and any new undertaking.

I started promptly to hike down the communication trench, following back
the way we had come. An English private soldier was detailed to go on
listening-post with me. Again, the raw soldier is never left to his own
devices on first coming in. He is given the support of a veteran on all
occasions, unless under some very special condition.

"Hie!" called the private to me, "where're yer goin' to?"

"Back, ye bally ass!"

He looked his contempt. "'Ave yer b'ynet fixed?" he asked, by way of
answer.

"Bayonet fixed?"

"Yes," said he, "'urry up! We're late."

"Late?" I repeated.

"For Gawd's syke," he exclaimed, "don't yer know as 'ow we are goin' hout?
Goin' over to the German trenches--goin' hout!"

[Illustration: (C)_Famous Players--Lasky Corporation. Scene from the
Photo-Play_

THE END OF A PERFECT DAY.]

[Illustration: Cheerful beggars]

I gulped. "Going to make a charge?"

"No ... goin' HOUT ... listenin'-post." And that private started out across
No Man's Land as nonchalantly as though he were strolling along his native
strand. I followed. I followed cautiously. I don't know how I got out. I
don't remember. I can't say that I was frightened ... no, I was just scared
stiff. Five paces out I put my hand on the Englishman's shoulder ... I was
quite close to him; don't doubt it. He stopped.

"How far is it to the German trenches?" I whispered.

"Eh?"

I raised my voice just a trifle. I didn't know