then another. Wagstaffe
sighs resignedly.

"Why can't they let well alone?" he complains. "What's the trouble
now?"

"I expect it's our Divisional Artillery having a little target
practice," says Captain Blaikie. He peers into a neighbouring
trench-periscope. "Yes, they are shelling that farm behind the German
second-line trench. Making good shooting too, for beginners," as a
column of dust and smoke rises from behind the enemy's lines. "But
brother Bosche will be very peevish about it. We don't usually fire at
this time of the afternoon. Yes, there is the haymaking party going
home. There will be a beastly noise for the next half-hour. Pass the
word along for every man to get into his dug-out."

The warning comes none too soon. In five minutes the incensed Hun is
retaliating for the disturbance of his afternoon siesta. A hail
of bullets passes over our trench. Shrapnel bursts overhead.
High-explosive shells rain upon and around the parapet. One drops into
the trench, and explodes, with surprisingly little effect. (Bobby
Little found the head afterwards, and sent it home as a memento of his
first encounter with reality.)

Our trench makes no reply. There is no need. This outburst heralds no
grand assault. It is a mere display of "frightfulness," calculated to
cow the impressionable Briton. We sit close, and make tea. Only the
look-out men, crouching behind their periscopes and loopholes, keep
their posts. The wind is the wrong way for gas, and in any case we all
have respirators. Private M'Leary, the humorist of "A" Company, puts
his on, and pretends to drink his tea through it.

Altogether, the British soldier appears sadly unappreciative either of
"frightfulness" or practical chemistry. He is a hopeless case.

The firing ceases as suddenly as it began. Silence reigns again,
broken only by a solitary shot from a trench-mortar--a sort of
explosive postscript to a half hour's Hymn of Hate.

"And that's that!" observes Captain Blaikie cheerfully, emerging from
Potsdam View. "The Hun is a harmless little creature, but noisy when
roused. Now, what about getting home? It will be dark in half an hour
or so. Platoon commanders, warn your men!"

It should be noted that upon this occasion we are not doing our full
spell of duty--that is, six days. We have merely come in for a spell
of instruction, of twenty-four hours' duration, under the chaperonage
of our elder and more seasoned brethren.

Bobby Little, having giv