and the sights around them.
He was a fine old man, with a yellow skin, long, flowing beard, and a
bald head. He explained that he was the local Mayor, and there was more
natural dignity about him than many a Lord Mayor of a huge city. He told
them that underneath his house was a cellar large enough to hide the
whole Company, and led the Captain away to see it.

In a few moments they returned.

"Just the very place," said the Captain; "we'll get the Company down
there right away, before the next big one comes over."

He led them down a flight of steps, opened a door, and stepped gingerly
into pitch darkness. When their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, it
was just possible to make out the dimensions of the place, and very
gradually the men filed in, and lay down wherever they could. By the
time the last man had pushed his way in, there was scarcely an
unoccupied foot of room in the whole cellar.

After a time the talk died down, and sounds of slumber filled the
darkness. Probably the only men in the whole Company who did not spend
the rest of that day in sleep were the "look-out" men, one posted in the
road to intercept messages, and the other at the head of the steps to
give warning.

As soon as it was dark they could leave the cellar with perfect
safety--a thing they were glad to do, for the atmosphere was not as
fresh as it might have been, and the place was very crowded. Only about
half of the men, however, availed themselves of the opportunity. The
others were too tired and just went on sleeping.

Some time in the middle of the night they were awakened by the Mess
Sergeant, who had successfully arrived with rations. The only possible
way, it seemed, was to get supplies over the bridges under cover of
darkness, as the enemy had got their range to a yard. He left their
share of food, and then hurriedly left.

"If I don't get well over by the morning, I don't get over at all," he
explained.

The next day was in every way similar to the previous one. No order to
move was received, and sleep was the most popular occupation. Now and
then, in intervals between the artillery duels, they would dash up the
steps and air themselves as best as they could. In one of his rambles
the Subaltern alighted upon a peach tree, which was greatly appreciated.
When the familiar sounds began again, they would troop once more down
the steps and fall asleep in the cellar, until peace was restored.

On one occasion, following his