The heavy artillery fire had let up a little, and the shells were not
quite so many.

Lucia started to run. She had made up her mind earlier in the day that
if she moved fast enough she would escape being hurt. She
unconsciously blamed the slowness of the Italian soldier for his
injury. She passed her cottage half-way down the hill. It was still
standing, but a shell had dropped on the little goat-shed and blown it
to pieces. One of the uprights and the door, which was made of stout
branches lashed together with cord, still stood. The door flapped
drearily and added to the desolation of the scene.

Lucia did not stop to investigate the damage, but hurried ahead. She
was afraid the light would fade before she reached the wounded soldier.

At the end of the road in the bottom of the valley she was just between
both sides, the shells dropped all about her and she stood still,
bewildered and frightened.

The high mountains on either side made sounding boards for the noise,
and the roar of the guns seemed to double in volume.

"Lie down!"

A voice almost under her foot made her jump, and she saw the Italian
soldier. She did as he commanded, and he pulled her towards him.

He was very weak, and when he moved one leg dragged behind him. He
tried to crawl with Lucia into the shell hole close by. She saw what
he was doing and did her best to help. When they finally rolled down