far back in the French lines thundered in reply. Then came a random and
scattering fire of rifles through the falling snow from both sides, but
John was not disturbed in the least by these reports. He felt as safe in
his narrow trench as if he had been a hundred miles from the field of
battle, and compared, with the driving storm outside, his six feet by
one of an earthen bed was all he wished. The pleasant warmth from the
blankets flowed through his veins, and his limbs and senses relaxed.
There was firing again, faint and from a distant point, but it was
soothing now like the tune played on the little mouth-organ earlier in
the evening, and he fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.

When he awoke in the morning the sun was shining in the trench, the
bottom of which was covered with eight inches of snow, now slushy on top
from the red beams. John felt himself restored and strong, and he
stepped down into the snow and slush, having first tucked his blue-gray
trousers into his high boots. He was lucky in the possession of a fine
pair of boots that would turn the last drop of water, and in such times
as these they were worth more than gold.

A shell screaming high overhead was his morning salutation, and then
came other shells, desultory but noisy. John paid no more attention to
them than if they had been distant bees buzzing. He looked at his young
prisoner, Kratzek, and found that he was still sleeping, with a healthy
color in his face. John was impressed anew by his youth. "Why do they
let such babies come to the war?" he asked himself, but he added,
"They're brave babies, though."

"Well, he's pulling along all right," said Carstairs. "I was up before
you and I learned that Captain Colton sent a surgeon in the night to
examine him. Wharton had done a good job with his bandages, he admitted,