one, as could be seen when its white knitted cap slipped. The elder
baby, perhaps two years old, began whimpering a little. He jigged it
gently, and said:

"We 'ad a lot o' trouble wi' this one yesterday. The Doctor didn't think
'er fit to travel; but I got to see the old people down there, before I
go back out across. Come over Sunday night--only got a week's leave. So
here we are," and he laughed.

"What is your corps?" I asked.

"Engineers."

"Join since the war?"

He looked at me as if to say: What a question!

"Twelve years' service. Been everywhere--India, South Africa, Egypt.
Come over to the front from Egypt."

"Where? Ypres?"

"Beg pardon? Wipers? No, Labassy."

"Rough time?"

He winked. "Proper rough time."

He looked straight at me, and his eyes--Celtic-grey, with a good deal of
light in them--stared, wide and fixed, at things beyond me, as only do
the eyes of those who have seen much death. There was a sort of
burnt-gunpowder look about their rims and lashes, and a fixity that
nothing could have stared down.

"The Kazer he says it'll all be over by April!" He laughed, abandoning
the whole of him to enjoyment of that joke.

He was thin as a rail; his head with its thick brown hair was narrow,
his face narrowish too. He had irregular ears, and no feature that could
be called good, but his expression was utterly genuine and unconscious
of itself. When he sat quiet his face would be held a little down, his
eyes would be looking at something--or was it at nothing?--far-off, in a
kind of frowning dream. But if he glanced at his babies his rather thick
mouth became all smiles, and he would make a remark to his wife about
them. Once or twice she looked at him softly, but I could never catch
him responding to that; his life was rather fuller than hers just now.
Presently she took from him the elder baby which, whimpering again, was
quieted at once by her broad placidity. The younger baby she passed to
him; and, having secured it on his knee, he said:

"This one's a proper little gem; never makes a sound; she's a proper
little gem. Never cude stand hearin' a baby cry." It certainly was an
admirable baby, whether her little garments were lifted so that you saw
portions of her--scarlet from being held too tight, whether the shawl
was wrapped over her too much or too little, or her little knitted
trousers seemed about to fall off. For both these babies were elegantly
dressed, and so was the mother, wit