"For ony sake," muttered the now demoralised Tosh, "drop the subject,
and I'll gie ye a bit ham o' ma ain! There's just time tae cook it--"

"What kin' o' a fire is this?"

A cold shadow fell upon the group as a substantial presence inserted
itself between the debaters and the wintry sunshine. Corporal
Mucklewame was speaking, in his new and awful official voice, pointing
an accusing finger at the fire, which, neglected in the ardour of
discussion, was smoking furiously.

"Did you wish the hale wood tae be shelled?" continued Mucklewame
sarcastically. "Put oot the fire at once, or I'll need tae bring ye
all before the Officer. It is a cauld dinner ye'll get, and ye'll
deserve it!"


IV

In the fire-trench--or perhaps it would be more correct to call it the
water-trench--life may be short, and is seldom merry; but it is not
often dull. For one thing, we are never idle.

A Boche trench-mortar knocks down several yards of your parapet.
Straightway your machine-gunners are called up, to cover the gap
until darkness falls and the gaping wound can be stanched with fresh
sandbags. A mine has been exploded upon your front, leaving a crater
into which predatory Boches will certainly creep at night. You summon
a _posse_ of bombers to occupy the cavity and discourage any