pond will no get dandering
ower them. And if you'll sorrt your books, I'll hand ower the yins ye
dinna require to the Y.M.C.A. hut ayont the village."

Bogle cherished a profound admiration for Lieutenant M'Lachlan both as
a scholar and a strategist, and absorbed his deliverances with a care
and attention which enabled him to misquote the same quite fluently to
his own associates. That very evening he set forth the coming plan of
campaign, as elucidated to him by his master, to a mixed assemblage
at the _Estaminet au Clef des Champs_. Some of the party were duly
impressed; but Mr. Spike Johnson, a resident in peaceful times of
Stratford-atte-Bow, the recognised humourist of the Sappers' Field
Company attached to the Brigade, was pleased to be facetious.

"It won't be no good you Jocks goin' over no parapet to attack no
'Uns," he said, "after what 'appened last week!"

This dark saying had the effect of rousing every Scottish soldier in
the _estaminet_ to a state of bristling attention.

"And what was it," inquired Private Cosh with heat, "that happened
last week?"

"Why," replied Mr. Johnson, who had been compounding this jest for
some days, and now saw his opportunity to deliver it with effect at
short range, "your trenches got raided last Wednesday, when you was
in' em. By the Brandyburgers, I think it was."

The entire symposium stared at the jester with undisguised amazement.

"Our--trenches," proclaimed Private Tosh with forced calm, "were never
raided by no--Brandyburrrgerrs! Was they, Jimmie?"

Mr. Cosh corroborated, with three adjectives which Mr. Tosh had not
thought of.

Spike Johnson merely smiled, with the easy assurance of a man who has
the ace up his sleeve.

"Oh yes, they was!" he reiterated.

"They werre _not_!" shouted half a dozen voices.

The next stage of the discussion requires no description. It
terminated, at the urgent request of Madame from behind the bar, and
with the assistance of the Military Police, in the street outside.

"And now, Spike Johnson," inquired Private Cosh, breathing heavily but
much refreshed, "can you tell me what way Gairmans could get intil the
trenches of a guid Scots regiment withoot bein' _seen_?"

"I can," replied Mr. Johnson with relish, "and I will. They got in all
right, but you didn't see them, because they was disguised."

Cosh and Tosh snorted disdainfully, and Private Nigg, who was present
with his friend Buncle, inquired--

"What way was the