, while once again the
comparison--never far absent from those who live "within range"--came
into his mind: the comparison between England and France--between the
country which has only learned of war through its soldiers, and the
country whose women and children have learned of it first hand, even unto
death. All was absolutely silent--the peace and glory of a summer's
morning hung over everything, while the smell of the wet clover came
faintly to his nostrils. A military policeman at the corner saluted
smartly, while a small boy in a little cart drawn by three straining dogs
raced him blithely up the village street. At the end of the battered
houses still occupied by their owners, and the temporary abode of half a
battalion of infantry resting from a spell in the trenches, progression
by bicycle became a little harder. Great branches lay across the road,
and pits torn out of the pave by bursting shells made steering a trifle
intricate; while occasionally one of the many signal wires which had
slipped during the night and was hanging low above his head, scraped the
top of his steel helmet.

Once more the familiar "_B'jour, monsieur_"--this time from an old dame
who sat day in day out in a corner under a wall selling chocolate. Just
above her head, so that by raising her arm she could have touched it, the
nose of a "dud" German shell poked out from the brickwork.

Ruin, desolation--and shrouding it all the cool damp mist of seven
o'clock in July.

"The very man!" A voice hailed him from behind, and a gunner subaltern
materialised. "Are you going up the line?"

"I am--at once." The Sapper placed his bicycle against a heap of
sandbags. "What does my dear one desire?

"The accursed Hun placed two large obuses into the Ritz yesterday
afternoon. What do you propose to do about it?" They were strolling
slowly through the sopping grass.

"Nothing--if I can possibly avoid it," answered the Sapper firmly. "You
select for an O.P. the most prominent house in the locality--put a
signaller on the top of it with a large flag--wait till midday, when the
sun is at its brightest, and then send a message back that the bully beef
is bad. You----"

"Laddie," interrupted the gunner, "desist. All that you say is true and
more--but we must stick to the Ritz, if we can. It commands a
soul-inspiring view of the trenches behind that new crater in a way we
can't get from anywhere else. What I want you to do is to cover t