ing
song in ecstatic lyrics of joyfulness, and they went on far flights
across a pale blue lake which was surrounded by black mountains of
cloud.

Another bird came out, but with a man above its wings. It was an
English aeroplane on a journey of reconnaissance above the
enemy's lines. I heard the loud hum of its engine, and watched how
its white wings were made diaphanous by the glint of sun until it
passed away into the cloud wrack.

It was invisible to us now, but not to the enemy. They had sighted it,
and we saw their shrapnel searching the sky for it. The airman
continued his journey on a wide circling flight, and we saw him
coming back unscathed.

For a little while our fire slackened. It was time for our infantry attack
upon the line of trenches which had sustained such a storm of shells.
Owing to the mist and the smoke we could not see our men leave the
trenches, nor any sign of that great test of courage when each man
depends upon the strength of his own heart, and has no cover behind
which to hide any fear that may possess him. What were those
cheers? Still the football players, or our soldiers scaling the ridge?
Was it only a freak of imagination that made us see masses of dark
figures moving over that field in the mist? The guns were firing again
continuously, at longer range, to check the enemy's supports.

So the battle went on till darkness began to creep up our hillside,
when we made our way down to the valley road and took tea with
some of the officers in a house quite close to the zone of fire. Among
them were the three remaining officers of a famous regiment--all that
were left out of those who had come to France in August of 1914.
They were quite cheerful in their manner and made a joke or two
when there was any chance. One of them was cutting up a birthday
cake, highly emblazoned with sugar-plums and sent out by a pretty
sister. It was quite a pleasant little party in the battle zone, and there
was a discussion on the subject of temperance, led by an officer who
was very keen on total prohibition. The guns did not seem to matter
very much as one sat in that cosy room among those cheery men. It
was only when we were leaving that one of them took a friend of mine
on one side, and said in a kind of whisper, "This war! ... It's pretty
rough, isn't it? I'm one of the last men out of the original lot. And, of
course, I'm sure to get 'pipped' in a week or two. On the law of
averages, you know."

A f