he canal towards one of the officers' dug-outs
he saw a staff officer talking with the major of his own battalion.
Tom lifted his hand to salute, when the staff officer turned and spoke
to him.

"Ah, is that you, Pollard?"

"Yes, Mr. Waterman--that is, yes, sir," stammered Tom.

"I hope you are doing well," said Waterman.

"I am still alive, thank you, sir," and then he passed on.

"He's got a safe job anyhow," thought Tom, "he'll be at the Divisional
Headquarters I expect; well, he's a clever fellow."

That night when Tom returned to the first line he was put on sentry
duty. It was one of those silent, windless, starless nights, when
under ordinary circumstances a solemn hush prevails. Even the trenches
were silent that night. On both sides the guns had ceased booming; it
seemed as though a truce had been agreed upon, and yet the air was
tense with doom.

Tom could not help feeling it as he traversed that part of the trench
in which his especial duty lay. Unimaginative as he was, his mind
worked freely. He called to mind the engagement of a few days before,
remembered what he had seen and heard.

Again and again he traversed the cutting in the earth; his rifle on his
shoulder, and bayonet fixed. How silent it was! Not a man's voice was
to be heard. He knew that sentries were all around him, but he could
not hear a footstep; he knew, too, that many of the soldiers lay in
their dug-outs, sleeping as peacefully as though they were at home.
And yet he felt all alone. "Where's Jim Bates now, I wonder, and
Arthur Wadge, and Bill Perkins, and George Wilson? they were killed,
but are they really dead?" he said to himself. He had known these lads
well; in fact, they had been pals of his, and he wondered what had
become of them. Were they still alive? What had they felt like when
they had to cross the deep, dark valley? What was death?

He thought of his old Sunday-schooldays, thought of his old beliefs.
"Ay," cried Tom aloud, "if I could only feel that Christ was wi' me now
I shouldn't care a bit; but I gave Him up months ago. Alice Lister
believed in Him, ay, she did an' all. I wonder where Alice is now?
Does she ever think about me, I wonder? does she pray for me as she
said?"

He thought of what the man had said in the Y.M.C.A. hut on the night
before they set sail for France. He had told the soldiers that they
needed a personal Saviour, and that that Saviour was ever waiting, ever
watching, to g