it together, see? The proof
of that is that it was company for me, and that I said Adieu to it when
I sent it off to Mother Blaire."

He is making another just now, and this one will have copper in it,
too. He works eagerly. His heart would fain express itself to the best
advantage in this the sort of penmanship upon which he is so
tenaciously bent.

As they stoop reverently, in their naked earth-holes, over the slender
rudimentary trinkets--so tiny that the great hide-bound hands hold them
with difficulty or let them fall--these men seem still more wild, more
primitive, and more human, than at all other times.

You are set thinking of the first inventor, the father of all
craftsmen, who sought to invest enduring materials with the shapes of
what he saw and the spirit of what he felt.

* * * * *

"People coming along," announces Biquet the mobile, who acts as
hall-porter to our section of the trench--"buckets of 'em." Immediately
an adjutant appears, with straps round his belly and his chin, and
brandishing his sword-scabbard.

"Out of the way, you! Out of the way, I tell you! You loafers there,
out of it! Let me see you quit, hey!" We make way indolently. Those at
the sides push back into the earth by slow degrees.

It is a company of Territorials, deputed to our sector for the
fortification of the second line and the upkeep of its communication
trenches. They come into view--miserable bundles of implements, and
dragging their feet.

We watch them, one by one, as they come up, pass, and disappear. They
are stunted and elderly, with dusty faces, or big and broken-winded,
tightly enfolded in greatcoats stained and over-worn, that yawn at the
toothless gaps where the buttons are missing.

Tirette and Barque, the twin wags, leaning close together against the
wall, stare at them, at first in silence. Then they begin to smile.

"March past of the Broom Brigade," says Tirette.

"We'll have a bit of fun for three minutes," announces Barque.

Some of the old toilers are comical. This one whom the file brings up
has bottle-shaped shoulders. Although extremely narrow-chested and
spindle-shanked, he is big-bellied. He is too much for Barque. "Hullo,
Sir Canteen!" he says.

When a more outrageously patched-up greatcoat appears than all the
others can show, Tirette questions the veteran recruit. "Hey, Father
Samples! Hey, you there!" he insists.

The other turns and looks at him, open-mou