there where a line of horses and carts looked like a gypsies'
bivouac--came up, with the well in his mind, and two canvas buckets
that danced at the end of his arms in time with his feet. In front
of the sleepy unarmed soldier with a bulging bag he stood fast.

"On leave?"

"Yes," said Eudore; "just back."

"Good for you," said the gunner as he made off.

"You've nothing to grumble at--with six days' leave in your
water-bottle!"

And here, see, are four more men coming down the road, their gait
heavy and slow, their boots turned into enormous caricatures of
boots by reason of the mud. As one man they stopped on espying the
profile of Eudore.

"There's Eudore! Hello, Eudore! hello, the old sport! You're back
then!" they cried together, as they hurried up and offered him hands
as big and ruddy as if they were hidden in woolen gloves.

"Morning, boys," said Eudore.

"Had a good time? What have you got to tell us, my boy?"

"Yes," replied Eudore, "not so bad."

"We've been on wine fatigue, and we've finished. Let's go back