more sense in some ways than we. They kill one another only for
food, while we kill because of hate or ignorance."

"Mostly ignorance."

"I suppose so. Hear that! It's a pleasant sound."

"So it is. Makes me think of home."

Some one further down the trench was playing a mouth organ. It was
merely a thin stream of sound, but it had a soft seductive note. The
tune was American, a popular air. It was glorified so far away and in
such terrible places, and John suddenly grew sick for home and the
pleasant people in the sane republic beyond the seas. But he crushed the
emotion and listened in silence as the player played on.

"A hundred of those little mouth-organs reached our brigade this
morning," said Colton. "Men in the trenches must have something to lift
up their minds, and little things outside current of war will do it."

It was a long speech for him to make and John felt its truth, but he
atoned for it by complete silence while they listened to many tunes,
mostly American, played on the mouth-organ. John's mind continually went
back to the great republic overseas, so safe and so sane. While he was
listening to the thin tinkle in the dark and snowy trench his friends
were going to the great opera house in New York to hear "Aida" or
"Lohengrin" maybe. And yet he would not have been back there. The wish
did not occur to him. Through the dark and the snow he saw the golden
hair and the deep blue eyes of Julie Lannes float before him, and it
pleased him too to think that he was a minute part in the huge event now
shaking the world.

A sudden white light blazed through the snow, and then was gone, like a
flash of lightning.

"German searchlight seeking us out," said Colton.

"I wonder what they want," said John. "They can't be thinking of a rush
on such a night as this."

"Don't know, but must be on guard. Better return to your station and
warn everybody as you go along. You can use your torch, but hold it
low."

As John walked back he saw by the light of his little electric torch men
sound asleep on the narrow shelves they had dug in the side of the
trench, their feet and often a shoulder covered with the drifting snow.
Strange homes were these fitted up with the warriors' arms and clothes,
and now and then with some pathetic little gift from home.

He met other men on guard like himself walking up and down the trench
and also carrying similar torches. He found Carstairs and Wharton still
awake, and occupi