s, but
penetrated the building so that the labour was performed in a depressing
atmosphere. To meet the emergency, at least in part, the despatch of
the usual eight o'clock mail was delayed for that night fifty minutes.
As in actual war an hour's delay may be fraught with tremendous issues
for good or ill, so this brief postal delay permitted the despatch of an
enormous amount of correspondence that would have otherwise been left
over to the following day.

Usually the despatch of the evening mail leaves the vast sorting-hall in
serene repose, with clean and empty tables; but on the night of this
great battle--which has to be re-fought every Christmas--the
embarrassment did not cease with the despatch of the evening mail.
Correspondence continued to flow on in as great a volume as before.

Squads of the warriors, however, withdrew at intervals from the fight,
to refresh themselves in the various kitchens of the basement.

As we have said elsewhere, the members of the Post-Office provide their
own food, and there are caterers on the premises who enable them to do
so without leaving the Office while on duty. But on this occasion extra
and substantial food--meat, bread, tea, coffee, and cocoa--were provided
by the Department at its own cost, besides which the men were liberally
and deservedly remunerated for the whole severe and extra duty.

It chanced that Phil Maylands and Peter Pax retired from the battle
about the same time; and met in the sorters' kitchen.

"Well, old fellow," said Phil, who was calm and steady but looking
fagged, to Pax, who was dishevelled about the head and dress and
somewhat roused by the exciting as well as fatiguing nature of the
work,--"Well, old fellow; tough work, isn't it?"

"Tough? It's glorious!" said Pax, seating himself enthusiastically at
the table; "I'm proud of my country--proud of the GPO--proud... I say,
is that beef that I see before me? Hand me a dagger--no, a knife will
do. You cut it, Phil, and help me first, 'cause I'm little."

While Phil was cutting the meat Pax rested his head on the table, and
was asleep almost instantly.

"Hallo, Pax! rouse yourself!" cried Phil, giving his comrade a hearty
slap on the shoulder; "up, lad, and eat--the battle still rages; no rest
allowed till victory is ours."

His little friend set to work at once, and the food and coffee soon
banished drowsiness. A number of men were similarly engaged around him.
But they did not feast lo