square and stately Georgian mansion, whose lights twinkle hospitably.

"I think, Shand," suggests Mackintosh with more formality, now that
he is approaching the scene of action, "that we might attack at two
different points, each of us with his own company. What is your
opinion?"

The officer addressed makes no immediate reply. His gaze is fixed upon
the yew hedge, as if searching for gun positions or vulnerable points.
Presently, however, he turns away, and coming close to Captain
Mackintosh, puts his lips to his left ear. Mackintosh prepares his
intellect for the reception of a pearl of strategy.

But Captain Shand merely announces, in his regulation whisper,--

"Dam pretty girl lives in that house, old man!"


II

Private Peter Dunshie, scout, groping painfully and profanely through
a close-growing wood, paused to unwind a clinging tendril from his
bare knees. As he bent down, his face came into sudden contact with
a cold, wet, prickly bramble-bush, which promptly drew a loving but
excoriating finger across his right cheek.

He started back, with a muffled exclamation. Instantly there arose at
his very feet the sound as of a motor-engine being wound up, and a
flustered and protesting cock-pheasant hoisted itself tumultuously
clear of the undergrowth and sailed away, shrieking, over the trees.