their souls turn frankly, as might children's, for refreshment and
relief to the kindly breast and simple beauties of Mother Nature.

The key-note of their attitude is given in the sentence, spoken
dreamily and as if in forgetfulness of my presence, by a Corporal of
the R.G.A. as I cleaned his boots--it was an honour. "The blue--the
blue--the blue--and the white!"

He was gazing skywards. I could see nothing but grey clouds, but I
knew that his young eyes were keener than mine, that he had learnt to
look into the inmost heart of things in that baptism of fire, that
travail of freedom, where desolation blossoms and hell sprouts like a
weed. Through the grey he could discern the triumph of the blue and
the white of peace, when the work of the brown shall be done. It was
an allegory. More he told me, too, in his simple country speech, so
good to hear in a foreign land: of the daisies in the yard at home,
of the dandelions on the lawn, of his pet pig: things too sacred to
repeat here. And he told me that the great event on the Front now is
the Autumn glory of the trees. Then he departed, and as he went he
broke into deep-throated, Homeric laughter, and I--I understood: he
was mocking Death. Even thus does laughter yap at the heels of that
dishonoured king out here.

* * * * *

TO THE BOOD.

A SODDET.

[Our poet has caught a severe cold through