ingerly, stepping with care and walking round the little
ridges that separated the shell holes. Festoons of it lay in these
holes, and in one large crater a dead Hun lay sprawled on a mattress of
it. To the spectator behind, it was one dead Hun--one of thousands.
To the man who happened to see him as he passed, it was an individual
whose chalky face had been ripped by one of the barbs as he fell.

And there is a difference. . . .

Then they came to the trenches--the front line, or what was left of it.
Just facing them a man with his hands above his head opened and shut
his mouth. He appeared to be saying something, but no voice could be
heard above the din. Reginald grinned again: the Hun who was trying to
imitate a fish struck him as a humorous spectacle; moreover, in a flash
of memory, he reminded him very much of Mr. Mogg's ample wife. He
grinned again as he thought of Mogg's.

Once more they were advancing again over the other side of the trench:
the moppers-up would attend to the piscatorial gentleman. Our friend
was better now--very much better; he felt more sure of himself; in
fact, absolutely sure of himself. In addition he was beginning to get
excited. And then a machine gun opened fire.

Hundreds of other machine guns opened fire too; but this one was
Reginald's machine gun--the one that concerned his limited horizon.
For a moment it did not strike him that way, though he saw the gun
quite clearly. He looked round for help, and in looking round for
help, he found that his five and three others who were close to him
were looking to him for help. And he realised his responsibility: he
had learned the lesson. . . .

It was a masterly little piece of work: an excellent piece of
subordinate leadership. With his arm he directed those eight--he had
not been trained as a scout in vain--and with the loss of only two he
got them out of the direct zone of fire. A few minutes later he, with
the six remaining, fell upon that gun's team from a flank. In five
seconds it was over, and the little group passed on.

It was just after this that he saw Shorty. At the moment that worthy
was lying in a shell hole drawing a bead on some target with the utmost
care. Reggie saw the kick of the gun, but failed to see what he had
been firing at until the firer stood up and screamed in his ear.

"Machine gunner--nest of them over there. Hanging up the ruddy
advance."

"We're doing well, Shorty." He howled back th