These are
his kukri and his umbrella--symbols of war and peace; and, although he
knows the weapon proper to each state and can dispense (none better)
with superfluities, there must have been many times in France when the
absence of his umbrella has caused him a bitter nostalgia. "Battle
is blessed by Allah and no man tires thereof," but trenches are of
the Shaitan, and from the same malevolent one comes the ever-raging
bursat, the pitiless drenching rain, that falls where a man may not
strip.

With his kukri he did wonders out there on stilly nights, when he
wriggled "over the top," gripping its good blade in his teeth. Then
No Man's Land became a jungle and the Bosch a beast whose dispatch
was swift and sure under his cunning wrist. Dawn would find him
squatting in the corner of his dug-out sleeping as one who has sweet
dreams--dreams maybe of counting the decapitated before an admiring
crowd in his native city, himself again the dapper young dog of
Darrapore.

No kilted Jock goes with more swagger down Princes Street than Johnny
Gurkha down the bazaar of Darrapore, particularly in the evening, when
he doffs khaki for the mufti suit of his clan--the spotless white
shorts, coat of black sateen, little cocked cap and brightly bordered
stockings--a _mode de rigueur_ that would be robbed of its final
_cachet_ without the black umbrella, tucked well up under the arm.

A splendid warrior; in private life a bit of a _Don Juan_, perhaps;
but his womenfolk bear him no grudge on this score, liking themselves
to sail easy through matrimonial seas.

When I returned to the depot a month ago there were tales, but, as
our old Subadar-Major observed, "War brought little disturbances. The
mischief was unfortunate, perhaps, but not irremediable," and, as the
Subadar had himself been on service in China for a matter of three
years, he knew what he was talking about.

As for the tales, well, I was reminded of them a few days ago on
making a tour of the lines to see that quarters were clean and
habitable for the next batch of invalids. There would be hospital
for some, for others the sunny little married quarters, and round
there wives were bustling with glee, making no secret of their late
coquetries, but manifestly glad of the return of their former lords.

Brass pots were being scoured in the doorways; babies sprawled in the
sun; a smell of cooking sweetmeats filled the air; a band of small
urchins in the roadway, wearing the s