ble, incidents when men had been removed somewhat forcibly by
the wily Hun from out those same sap-heads. So he settled his steel
helmet firmly on his head, and stepped out of his dug-out into the
communication trench.

Now in that particular part of the line the communication trenches were
long ones, and by the time he reached the front line it was getting
dark. A man of small stature, but withal fiery appearance, General
Herbert Firebrace strode along through the deepening gloom, humming
gently to himself. At first the trenches were fairly populous--he was
in a part of the front line between two groups of craters--and he found
it necessary to bark "Gangway!" continuously. Then he reached his
goal, the saps behind one of the groups--short trenches which stretch
out from the fire trench into No Man's Land and finish on the near lips
of the craters. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the first of
the saps held to his satisfaction. The sentry group were quietly
smoking; the sentry up at the head of the sap was watching fixedly
through his periscope. The rifles and bayonets of the men rested close
at hand, the Mills bombs were conveniently placed on a narrow ledge
under cover.

"Ha, good! All quiet here, my lads?"

"All quiet, sir," answered the corporal, scrambling up.

"That's all right. Good night, corporal." And the martial little
figure disappeared round the corner.

Now the corporal was new in that bit of the line; to be exact, he had
just returned from leave. That was one cause.

"Look out--oil-can!" The sentry gave a hail, and every one ducked.
That was the other cause.

For at the precise moment that an oil-can exploded with a thunderous
crump twenty yards or so beyond the trench, there was a sudden noise of
ripping canvas, an agonised shout, and the heavy crash of a body
encountering china. Then--silence. The sap parties heard only the
oil-can; Percy FitzPercy for a wonder was not brooding over his
invention, and there was no one who knew that close beside them in an
odoriferous underground abode the Brigadier-General lay completely
stunned, with his head in a metal soup tureen and his rather extensive
set of uppers in a disused tin hitherto devoted to that painstaking
gentleman, Mr. Maconochie.

Up to this point it will be willingly conceded, I think, by any one
acquainted with trench etiquette that the unfortunate predicament of
Herbert Firebrace, General and Great One, was only wh