bearers moved on, leaving the gunner groping in his memory for a
sentence in the youngster's last talk he had heard. "Ghastly business
. . . cruel messy smash,' he murmured.

'Beg pardon, sir?' said the telephonist.

The Forward Officer made no answer but continued to stare after the
disappearing stretcher-bearers. The signaller shuffled his feet in the
mud and hitched up the strap of the instrument on his shoulder.

'I suppose it's all over now, sir,' he said.

'Yes, all over--except for his father, or mother, or sweetheart,' said
the officer absently.

The signaller stared. 'I meant the shellin', sir.'

'Oh--ah, yes; the shelling, Jackson. Yes, I dare say that's over for
to-night, since they seem to have stopped now.'

'P'raps we might see about some food, sir,' said the signaller.

'Food--to be sure,' said the officer briskly. 'Eat, drink, and be
merry, Jackson, for--I'm hungry too, now I think of it. And, oh Lord,
I'm tired.'

No. 2 Platoon were tired too, as they filed wearily out by the
communication trench, tired and worn out mentally and physically--and
yet not too tired or too broken for a light word or a jest. From the
darkness behind them a German flare soared up and burst, throwing up
bushes and shattered buildings, sandbag parapets, broken tree-stumps,
sticks and stones in luminous-edged silhouette. A machine-gun burst
into a stutter of fire, the reports sounding faint at first and louder
and louder as the muzzle swept round in its arc. 'Ssh-sh-sh-sh,' the
bullets swept overhead, and No. 2 Platoon halted and crouched low in
the shallow communication trench.

'Oh, shut it, blast ye,' growled one of the men disgustedly. 'Ain't we
'ad enough for one day?'

'It's only 'im singin' 'is little evenin' hymn as usual,' said another.

'Just sayin' 'is good-bye an' sendin' a few partin' sooveniers'; and
another sang 'Say aw rev-wore, but not good-bye.'

'Stop that howling there,' a sergeant called down the line, 'and stop
smoking those cigarettes and talking.'

'Certainly, sergeant,' a voice came back. 'An' please sergeant, will
you allow us to keep on breathin'?'

The light died, and the line rose and moved on, squelching softly in
the mud. A man clapped a hand to his pocket, half halted and exclaimed
in annoyance. 'Blest if I 'aven't left my mouth-organ back there,' he
said. 'Hutt!' said his next file. 'Be glad ye've a mouth left, or a
head to have a mouth. It might be worse, an' ye