ll right here," sez
the F.O., when another shell bust right on the old spot an' the
splinters went singin' over us. "They look like keepin' on the same
spot, and we must be out of the line the splinters take."

'It looked like he was right, for about three more fell without
touchin' us, and I was feeling a shade easier in my mind. There was
some infantry comin' up on their way to the support trenches, an' they
filed along by the wall that was coverin' us. Just as they was passin'
another shell dropped. It was on the same spot as all the others, but
blow me if it didn't get three of them infantry. They fell squirmin'
right on top o' us an' the instrument, so I concluded that spot wasn't
as safe as the F.O. had reckoned, an' there was a flaw in 'is argument
somewheres that the Coal-Box 'ad found out. The F.O. saw that too, an'
we shifted out quick-time. After that things quietened down a bit, an'
the short hairs on the back o' my neck had time to lie down. They
stood on end again once or twice in the afternoon, when we'd some more
repairin' under fire to do; an' then to wind up the day they turned a
maxim on just as we was comin' away from the post, an' we had to flop
on our faces with the bullets zizz-izz-ipping just over us. We took a
trench, I hear; an' the Jocks in front of us had thirty casualties, and
the Guards on our left 'ad some more, 'cos I seed 'em comin' back to
the ambulance.

'On the 'ole, it's been about the most unpleasantest day I've spent for
a spell. What wi' wadin' to the knees in the trench mud, getting
soaked through wi' rain, not 'aving a decent meal all day, crawlin'
about in mud an' muck, an' gettin' chivvied an' chased all over the
landscape wi' shells an' shrapnel an' machine-guns an' rifles, I've
just about 'ad enough o' this King an' Country game.'

The Signaller paused a moment. But his gaze fell on the letter he
still held in his hand, and he tapped it with a scornful finger and
burst out again violently: 'King an' Country--huh! An' a bald-'eaded
blighter sittin' warm an' dry an' comfortable by 'is fireside at 'ome
writes out an' tells me what the Country's thinkin'. I come in 'ere
after a day that's enough to turn the 'air of a 'earse-'orse grey, an'
I'm told about my pals bein' casualtied; an' to top it all I gets a
letter from 'ome--"why don't you do somethin'? Why don't you get up
an' go for 'em?" Ar-r-rh!!'

''Ome,' remarked the Limber Gunner. ''Ome don't know nuthi