round them, the water had come in, and the interior of a fair proportion
of these residences consisted of a circular lake, varying in depth from
a few inches to a foot and a half.

The battalion could only find one word, when its breath came--and, as
the regiment which had made those holes, and the town major to whom they
now belonged, were probably of unimpeachable ancestry, I do not think
the accusation was justified. But when it realised that, good or bad,
this was the place where it was to pass the night, it split itself up,
as good Australian battalions have a way of doing.

"Which is the way to our tents, Bill?" asked the rear platoon of one of
the band, which had arrived half an hour before.

"I don't know--I'm not the blanky harbour-master," was the reply. The
battalion set to work, like a tribe of beavers, to make a home. It
banked up little parapets of mud to prevent water coming in. It dug
capacious drains to let the water which was in run out. It scraped the
mud out of the interior of its lake dwellings, until it reached more or
less dry earth. A fair proportion of the regiment melted out into the
landscape, and returned during the rest of the day by ones and twos,
carrying odd bits of timber, broken wood, bricks, fag ends of rusty
sheet iron, old posts, wire and straw. By nightfall those Australians
were, I will not say in comfort, but moderately and passably warm and
dry.

It so happened that they stayed in that camp four days. By the time they
left it they were looking upon themselves as almost fortunate. There was
only one break in its improvement--and that was when a dug-out was
discovered. It was a charming underground home, dug by some French