ound floor of which had been a hatter and hosier's
shop, and there still swung bravely on an iron rod the red brim of
what once had been a monstrous red hat. Next door, the facade of the
upper stories had been shelled away and the naked interiors gave the
impression of a pathetic doll's house. Women's garments still hung on
pegs. A cottage piano lurched forward drunkenly on three legs, with
the keyboard ripped open, the treble notes on the ground, the bass
incongruously in the air. In the attic, ironically secure, hung a
cheap German print of blowsy children feeding a pig. The wide
flagstoned street smelt sour. At various cavern doors sat groups of
the billeted soldiers. Now and then squads marched up and down,
monotonously clad in khaki and dun-coloured helmets. Officers, some
only recognizable by the Sam Browne belt, others spruce and
point-device, passed by. Here and there a shop was open, and the
elderly proprietor and his wife stood by the doorway to get the
afternoon air. Women and children straggled rarely through the
streets. The Boche had left the little town alone for some time; they
had other things to do with their heavy guns; and all the French
population, save those whose homes were reduced to nothingness, had
remained. They took no notice of the distant bombardment. It had grown
to be a phenomenon of nature like the wind and the rain.

But to Doggie it was new--just as the sight of the wrecked house
opposite, with its sturdy crownless hat-brim of a sign, was new. He
listened, as McPhail had bidden him, to the artillery duel with an odd
little spasm of his heart.

"What do you think of that, now?" asked McPhail grandly, as if it was
The Greatest Show on Earth run by him, the Proprietor.

"It's rather noisy," said Doggie, with a little ironical twist of his
lips that was growing habitual. "Do they keep it up at night?"

"They do."

"I don't think it's fair to interfere with one's sleep like that,"
said Doggie.

"You've got to adapt yourself to it," said McPhail sagely. "No doubt
you'll be remembering my theory of adaptability. Through that I've
made myself into a very brave man. When I wanted to run away--a very
natural desire, considering the scrupulous attention I've always paid
to my bodily well-being--I reflected on the preposterous obstacles put
in the way of flight by a bowelless military system, and adapted
myself to the static and dynamic conditions of the trenches."

"Gorblime!" said Mo Sh