y broke down suddenly. The hardness and the anger vanished.

"Miss Willmot," he said, "for God's sake don't tell Nelly that I'm
here."

"You didn't do it," said Miss Willmot.

"Of course I didn't do it," he said. "There's been some infernal
blunder. I didn't know what the damned idiots meant when they put me
under arrest I didn't know what the charge was till they marched me in
to the C.O. here. He told me. Oh, the Army's a nice thing, I can tell
you. I was expecting to get my stripe over that raid when I got hit
with a bullet in my leg, and here I am charged with a coward's trick. I
suppose they'll prove it I suppose they've got what they call evidence.
I only hope they'll shoot me quick and have done with it I don't want to
live."

Miss Willmot went over to the boy and took his hand. She led him to the
corner of the bare room. They sat down together on the folded blanket
She talked to him quietly, sanely, kindly. For half an hour she sat
there with him. Before she left, hope had come back to him.

"Don't you worry about my being here," he said "If things are cleared
up in the end I shan't mind a bit about spending a night or two in this
cell. With all the things you've brought me"--the cake, chocolate, and
cigarettes were spread out on the floor--"I'll have a merry Christmas,
better than the trenches, anyhow. But, I say, don't tell Nelly. She
might fret."

The Christmas festivities in the Camp were enormously successful. The
men had cold ham for breakfast, a special treat paid for by the Major.
They assembled for church parade, and Digby gave them the shortest
sermon ever preached by a padre. The Major, who liked to play the piano
at church service, was so startled by the abrupt conclusion of the
discourse, that he started "O Come, All ye Faithful," in a key so
low that no one could sing the second line. The Major pulled himself
together.

"As you were," he said, and started again.

The men, thoroughly roused by the novelty of the proceedings, yelled the
hymn. The dinner was all that could be hoped. Sweating cooks staggered
into the dining-hall with huge dishes of meat and steaming cauldrons of
potatoes. Sergeants, on that day acting as servants to the men, bore off
from the carving-tables plates piled high. The Yorkshire pudding looked
like gingerbread, but the men ate it The plum pudding was heavy, solid,
black.

The Major, smiling blandly, went from table to table. Miss Nelly,
flushed with excitement an