According to William there was one, "Sunny Jim," a morbid transport mule,
inside the tent, providing the motive power. "Sunny Jim" had always been
something of a somnambulist, and this time he had sleep-walked clean
through our mess and on into William's tent, where the mallet woke him up.
He was then making the best of his way home to lines again, expedited by
William and the mallet.

So now we are messless; now we crouch shivering in tents and talk lovingly
of the good old times beneath our good old tin roof-tree, of the wonderful
view of the mud we used to get from our window, and of the homely tune our
shell-boxes used to perform as they jostled together of a stormy night.

And sometimes, as we crouch shivering in our tents, we hear a strange sound
stealing up-hill from the lines. It is the mules laughing.

* * * * *

SONGS OF FOOD PRODUCTION.

I.

Goddess, hear me--oh, incline a
Gracious ear to me, Lucina!
Patroness of parturition,
Pray make this a special mission;
Prove a kind inaugurator
Of my votive incubator!

Seventy eggs I put into it--
Each a chick, if you ensue it.