mp, with a base so broad that it cast a
heavy shadow on the table under it. There was a fire of coals in the
little corner stove, and through the open door of the stove a friendly
glow spread out into the room. As they sat there resting and talking, a
tap-tap came at the window.

"Ah, the Commandant is back," said Hilda. The women brightened up. The
door opened and their good friend, Commandant Jost, entered. He was a
man tall and slender and closely-knit, with a rich vein of sentiment,
like all good soldiers. He was perhaps fifty-two or three years of age.
His eyebrows slanted down and his moustache slanted up. His eyes were
level and keen in their beam of light, and they puckered into genial
lines when he smiled. His nose was bent in just at the bridge, where a
bullet once ploughed past. This mishap had turned up the end of a large
and formerly straight feature. It was good to have him back again after
his fortnight away. The evening broke pleasantly with talk of common
friends in the trenches.

There came a ring at the door. A knob at the outer door pulled a string
that ran to their room and released a tiny tinkle. Victor, the orderly,
answered the ring. He had a message for the Commandant. Jost held it
high up to read it by the lamp. Hilda brought a lighted candle, and
placed it on the table. He sat down, wrote his answer, and gave it to
the waiting soldier. He returned, closed the door, and looked straight
into the face of each of his friends.

"You have to go?" asked Hilda.

"We expect an attack," he answered. It was then 9:30.

"What time?" asked Hilda.

"The Dixmude and Ramskappele attacks were just before dawn. When the
mists begin to rise, and the enemy can see even dimly, then they attack.
I think they will attack to-night, just so."

"How does that concern you?" asked Hilda. "What do you have to do?"

"I have just asked my Colonel that I take thirty of my men and guard the
section in front of the railroad tracks. That is where they will come
through."

"What is the situation in the trenches, to-night?" asked Hilda.

"We have only a handful. Not more than fifty men."

"Not more than fifty!" cried Mrs. Bracher. "How many mitrailleuse have
you at the railroad?"

"Six, two in the second story of the house, and four in the station
opposite."

"Six ought to be enough to rake the road."

"Yes, but they won't come down the road," explained Jost; "they will
come across the flooded field on rafts, wi