ers types of
deceit, varying from that which conceals what is, to that which exposes
what is not--involved that last, but think it out--so are there many
types of camouflage. And the particular one with which I am concerned,
deals with a tree.

On a certain slight eminence in what was otherwise a flat and dreary
outlook, there stood the stump of a tree. It was a tired stump,
strongly reminiscent of the morning after. It had had a hard life, and
much of its pristine glory had faded. No longer did the sprightly
sparrow chirrup cheerfully to its young from leafy branches; no longer
did cattle recline in its shade during the heat of the day. It was
just a stump--a stump complete with splinters.

Its sole claim to notoriety lay in its position. It commanded a view
of the German lines which was not to be had elsewhere; in fact, from
the eminence on which it stood you could obtain the only good
observation of the opposite trenches in that particular sector of the
line.

It was the Brigade Major who first suggested the idea in the fertile
brain of the C.R.E. of the Division, who happened to be talking to him
at the moment. They were in the support line trenches, and close to
where they stood, the tree--gaunt, repulsive and toothpicky--raised its
stunted head to heaven.

"What a pity that tree ain't hollow!" ruminated the Staff officer
thoughtfully. "Splendid view from it of the Huns. Can't do anything
in that line, can you, Colonel?"

The C.R.E. thoughtfully considered the proposition. "Afraid not, old
boy," he answered after a few moments' deliberation. "Bit of a job
hollowing out a tree. All the same, you're quite right. It would make
a great O.P."

"Why not make another down in your yard, and put it up instead?" The
Brigadier joined in the discussion. "We must have better observation
in this sector if we possibly can."

"Cut this one down one night and put up a dummy in its place." The
C.R.E once again considered the wretched stump. "Not a bad idea,
General; the only question is who is to do it. It will have to be a
good model, or the Huns will spot the difference; and . . ." Suddenly
his face cleared. "By Jove! I've got it--Bendigo Jones. He's the man
for the job."

"And who the deuce is Bendigo Jones?" asked the General, as the Sapper
rapidly jotted down something in his note-book. "He sounds like a
prize fighter or the inventor of a patent medicine."

"Bendigo Jones, General, is my late