score.

A sort of a subconscious connection between my conversation with the
Algerian and the effect of my gun fire found lodging in the back of my
head, but it was not until later that it became a direct consciousness.
Another thing that set me thinking was what seemed to me to be an undue
familiarity between this Algerian trooper and our farmer; he had the
entree of the house, apparently could go and come as he pleased,
drinking coffee with the inmates, sleeping there nights and making
himself generally at home. I didn't think much of it at the time, but
later events made these trivialities very significant indeed.

The bombardment was now commencing to have its effect on me, and McLean
and I were both tired out; we were dead beat and looked around for a
quiet spot where we could rest. Billy McLean was my especial pal ever
since I had set foot in France.

"Here is what the doctor ordered," he said, as we went off down the
hedge a bit and came to a little opening in the bush into which we both
crawled. It requires no effort for a man who has been sustaining the
sound, shock and work of a bombardment, to fall asleep anywhere, any
time, and we were soon Murphyized, as Mac expressed it.

The rain now commenced falling heavily and in the midst of our slumbers,
an orderly happened along and woke me up. I gave Mac a shove and he too
woke up. We were drenched and made for the barn. We found the Old Man
there with a lantern and told him we were going up in the loft, but he
scowled and said we were not to go. "To hell with you!"--and up we went,
finding five or six of the boys there taking advantage of the lull to
snatch an hour's sleep. We quickly followed suit, getting hold of some