ne of the most glorious pieces of carving in France was wrought in
walnut by a great sculptor and lifted up on a tree in the midst of an
estate, where the peasants, resting from their work, could refresh their
souls by love and faith and prayer.

One day last summer, during the Teuton advance, a German officer stood
beneath that divine figure. Mentally he marked the place. That night
when the darkness fell a company of German officers returned to that
spot. One of them climbed up on the tree. He found that the carved
figure of Jesus was life size.

With the end of a rope a little platform was drawn up level with the
foot of the crucifix. Two ropes were fastened to the outstretched arms
of the Saviour. Another rope was fastened around the neck of Jesus,
until the platform was made safe. Then a German sniper with his gun
climbed up on the platform. He laid his rifle upon the shoulders of the
Divine Figure, hiding his body behind that of Jesus. The German officer
must have chuckled with satisfaction, for he knew that he had found a
screen behind which a murderer might hide, and the German villain was
quite right in his psychology.

It was true that the French soldiers loved that beautiful figure. To
them the crucifix was sacred. So beautiful were their ideals, so lofty
their spirit, so pure and high their imagination, that they were
incapable of conceiving that a German could use the sacred crucifix as a
screen from which to send forth his murderous hail.

The green boughs of that tree hid the little puff of smoke. From time to
time a French soldier would fall dead with a hole through his forehead.
Once a French officer threw up his hands while the blood streamed from
his mouth and he pitched forward dead.

At last the French soldiers understood. There was a sniper behind
Christ's cross. The French could have turned their cannon against that
tree, but instead they simply kept below the trench until the night
fell. Then in the darkness some French boys took their lives in their
hands and crawled on hands and knees across No Man's Land. Lying on
their backs they cut the wires above their heads.

By some strange providence they dropped safely into the German trench
and crawled ten yards beyond. Then they climbed into the tree, removed
that glorious crucifix with the carved figure, brought it back in
safety and at daybreak turned their cannon on the tree and blew the
platform to pieces.

Foul Huns had made a screen of