rightly ascertained, but the weight of public opinion inclined to the
view that Mucklewame, who had momentarily exposed himself above the
parapet, was responsible.

"I doot he thocht ye were a lion escapit from the Scottish Zoo!"
explained a brother corporal, referring to his indignant colleague's
new winter coat.

Here is another incident, with a different ending. At one point our
line approaches to within fifteen yards of the Boche trenches. One wet
and dismal dawn, as the battalion stood to arms in the neighbourhood
of this delectable spot, there came a sudden shout from the enemy, and
an outburst of rapid rifle fire. Almost simultaneously two breathless
and unkempt figures tumbled over our parapet into the firing-trench.
The fusillade died away.

To the extreme discomfort and shame of a respectable citizen of
Bannockburn, one Private Buncle, the more hairy of the two visitors,
upon recovering his feet, promptly flung his arms around his neck and
kissed him on both cheeks. The outrage was repeated, by his companion,
upon Private Nigg. At the same time both visitors broke into a joyous
chant of "Russky! Russky!" They were escaped Russian prisoners.

When taken to Headquarters they explained that they had been brought
up to perform fatigue work near the German trenches, and had seized
upon a quiet moment to slip into some convenient undergrowth. Later,
under cover of night, they had made their way in the direction of the
firing-line, arriving just in time to make a dash before daylight
discovered them. You may imagine their triumphal departure from our
trenches--loaded with cigarettes, chocolate, bully beef, and other