and circular.

"The cyclone cellar!" some one said. "We will come here during the
return fire."

But one look down the crude steps decided me to brave the return fire
and die in the open. The cave below the flat roof, turf-covered
against the keen eyes of aeroplanes, was full of water. The officers
watched my expression and smiled.

And now we had reached the battery, and eager gunners were tearing
away the trees and shrubbery that covered them. In an incredible space
of time the great grey guns, sinister, potential of death, lay open to
the bright sky. The crews gathered round, each man to his place. The
shell was pushed home, the gunners held the lanyards.

"Open your mouth wide," said the officer in charge, and gave the
signal.

The great steel throats were torn open. The monsters recoiled, as if
aghast at what they had done. Their white smoke curled from the
muzzles. The dull horses in the road lifted their heads.

And over there, beyond the line of poplar trees, what?

One by one they fired the great guns. Then all together, several
rounds. The air was torn with noise. Other batteries, far and near,
took up the echo. The lassitude of the deadlock was broken.

And then overhead the bursting shell of a German gun. The return fire
had commenced!

I had been under fire before. The sound of a bursting shell was not a
new one. But there had always before been a strong element of chance
in my favour. When the Germans were shelling a town, who was I that a
shell should pick me out to fall on or to explode near? But this was
different. They were firing at a battery, and I was beside that
battery. It was all very well for the officer in charge to have said
they had never located his battery. I did not believe him. I still
doubt him. For another shell came.

The soldiers from the farmhouse had gathered behind us in the field. I
turned and looked at them. They were smiling. So I summoned a shaky
smile myself and refused the hospitality of the cellar full of water.

One of the troopers stepped out from the others.

"We have just completed a small bridge," he said--"a bridge over the
canal. Will madame do us the honour of walking across it? It will thus
be inaugurated by the only lady at the front."

Madame would. Madame did. But without any real enthusiasm. The men
cheered, and another German shell came, and everything was merry as a
marriage bell.

They invited me to climb the ladder to the lookout in the tre