at last there emerged from the bottom of
the trench a large round tin which completely encased the head of its
wearer, who slowly followed, maintaining a continuous booming roar.
Immediately behind him came the owner of the voice, severely chipped
about the face, but with the light of battle in his eyes.

"Now, you----" The words died away in his mouth. "Great heavens! The
General!" And as the frozen eye of the speaker, who had been the other
occupant of the hole, wandered round the stricken onlookers, even
Percy's nerve broke. It was the Colonel.

I will draw the veil of reticence over the remainder of this harrowing
narrative. The procession back to Brigade Head-quarters has become
historic. The attempt to remove the soup tureen on the spot caused its
unhappy possessor such agony, and gave rise to so much unseemly and
ill-repressed mirth on the part of the audience, that it was hastily
abandoned, and the wretched man was led gently back to his dug-out.

The Brigade-Major, who had been notified over the telephone, met him at
the entrance with a handkerchief suspiciously near his mouth.

"How dreadful, sir!" he murmured, in a voice that shook a little. "I
have--er--sent for a tin-opener."

The General was led to a chair, into which he sank wearily, while in
hushed tones the Colonel explained what had happened to the shaking
Staff.

"I was told that the General had been seen going down to the front line
alone," he remarked in a low tone, "and so I at once followed him.
Just as I got to the craters there was a small Hun raid. I let drive
at one of them with my revolver, and the next instant I fell through a
hole, full on top of some one's back. He let out a roar of pain and
scrambled up. Of course I thought it was a Hun, and proceeded to beat
him over the head with my stick. Great Scott, what a show!"

The Colonel mopped his brow, and the Staff shook still more.

"I'd dropped my revolver, or I'd probably have shot him. Then suddenly
there was a clang, and the hole was closed up, while at the same moment
something charged past me, head down, and hit the wall. There was a
roar of pain, and the tin became a fixture. The poor old boy had
rammed the wall with the soup tureen."

A gurgling noise from the chair interrupted him.

"What is it, sir?" cried the Staff Captain, solicitously.

The General hooted mournfully.

"Yes, sir. He'll be here very soon, sir. Not much longer now. We've
sent for a