sleepless individual is 'Where did that one land?' and the answer with
some accompanying adjectives is invariably, 'I am more concerned about
where the next one will land.'

[Illustration: With the aid of electric torches ... we descended to
the cellar.]

The enemy generally commences shelling these places at the close of
day, and the men have described these operations as 'The Hun's evening
hate.' On one occasion a certain village was being strafed. Several
men of a certain battalion were on the road at the time. They quickly
availed themselves of the shelter of a cellar. The building was hit
several times. Shortly after the bombardment commenced a man leading a
mule was observed, coming along the road. He was invited to take
shelter in the cellar. The invitation was accepted with alacrity. The
mule was tethered to the window-sill, and the man was soon in their
midst. Shells continued to burst overhead and round about. The
newcomer proved to be a blessing. He soon had the men laughing despite
the noise and danger. When a shell burst in close proximity to the
building, he evinced great concern for the safety of his mule. 'My
poor old "donk,"' he would exclaim; 'there goes his tail.' Another
burst: 'There goes his hind-quarters.' It seemed impossible for the
mule to escape injury or death. Turning to his companions he
declared that he would carry part of that mule back. If his head were
left intact he would gather the harness and wrap it round the head and
carry it back to the lines, and if the O.C. transport asked where the
'donk' was, he would say, 'Shot from under me, sir.' Suddenly the
shelling ceased, and they emerged from their shelter. The mule's
master was the first outside. He fully expected to see but a
blood-stain on the spot where he had left the beast, but to his great