h shouted, mimicking the
Cockney accent. "You'll annoy those good people across the way."

"An if I do!"

"They may fire at you!" said monumental Goliath with fine irony.

"Then 'ere's another," Bill replied, and fired again.

"Don't expose yourself over the parapet," said our officer, going his
rounds. "Fire through the loop-holes if you see anything to fire at,
but don't waste ammunition."

The loop-holes, drilled in steel plates wedged in the sandbags, opened
on the enemy's lines; a hundred yards of this front was covered by
each rifle; we had one loop-hole in every six yards, and by day every
sixth man was posted as sentry.

Stoner, diligent worker that he is, set about preparing breakfast (p. 098)
when stand-to was over. In an open space at the rear of the dug-out he
fixed his brazier, chopped some wood, and soon had the regimental
issue of coke ablaze.

"I'll cut the bacon," I said, producing the meat which I had carried
with me.

"Put the stuff down here," said Stoner, "and clear out of it."

Stoner, busy on a job, brooks no argument, he always wants to do the
work himself. I stood aside and watched. Suddenly an object, about the
size of a fat sausage, spun like a big, lazy bee through the air, and
fifty paces to rear, behind a little knoll, it dropped quietly, as if
selecting a spot to rest on.

"It's a bird," said Stoner, "one without wings."

It exploded with terrific force, and blew the top of the knoll into
the air; a shower of dust swept over our heads, and part of it dropped
into Stoner's fire.

"That's done it," he exclaimed, "what the devil was it?"

No explanation was forthcoming, but later we discovered that it was a
bomb, one of the morning greetings that now and again come to us (p. 099)
from the German trench mortars. This was the first we had seen; some
of our fellows have since been killed by them; and the blue-eyed
Jersey youth who was my friend at St. Albans, and who has been often
spoken of in my little volume _The Amateur Army_, came face to face
with one in the trenches one afternoon. It had just been flung in,
and, accompanied by a mate, my friend rounded a traverse in a deserted
trench and saw it lying peacefully on the floor.

"What is it?" he asked, coming to a halt.

"I don't know, it looks like a bomb!" was the sudden answering yell.
"Run."

A dug-out was near, and both shoved in, the Jersey boy last. But the
bomb was too quick for him. Half an hour later the str