turned to pandemonium.

A lanky and degenerate youth (who before the war had been unlovingly
known throughout Europe as the "White Rabbit" and who now was mentioned
in dispatches as the "Crown Prince") had succeeded in leading some
half-million fellow-Germans into a "pocket" that had lately been merely
a salient.

From the three lower sides of the pocket, the Allies ecstatically flung
themselves upon their trapped foes in a laudable effort to crush the
half-million boches and their rabbit-faced princeling into surrender
before the latter could get out of the snare, and to the shelter of the
high ground and the reenforcements that lay behind it. The Germans
objected most strenuously to this crushing process. And the three
beleaguered edges of the pocket became a triple-section of hell.

It was a period when no one's nerves were in any degree normal--least
of all the nerves of the eternally hammered Germans. Even the fiercely
advancing Franco-Americans, the "Here-We-Comes," had lost the grimly
humorous composure that had been theirs, and waxed sullen and ferocious
in their eagerness.

Thus it was that Bruce missed his wontedly uproarious welcome as he
cantered, at sunset one July day, into a smashed farmstead where his
friends, the "Here-We-Comes," were bivouacked for the night. By
instinct, the big dog seemed to know where to find the temporary
regimental headquarters.

He trotted past a sentry, into an unroofed cattle-shed where the
colonel was busily scribbling a detailed report of the work done by the
"Here-We-Comes" during that day's drive.

Coming to a halt by the colonel's side, Bruce stood expectantly wagging
his plumy tail and waiting for the folded message from division
headquarters to be taken off his collar.

Usually, on such visits, the colonel made much of the dog. To-day he
merely glanced up abstractedly from his writing, at sight of Bruce's
silken head at his side. He unfastened the message, read it, frowned
and went on with his report.

Bruce continued to wag his tail and to look up wistfully for the wonted
petting and word of commendation. But the colonel had forgotten his
existence. So presently the collie wearied of waiting for a caress from
a man whose caresses, at best, he did not greatly value. He turned and
strolled out of the shed. His message delivered, he knew he was at
liberty to amuse himself as he might choose to, until such time as he
must carry back to his general a reply to the d