sed through that officer's eye,
and entered his brain. He had laid him on the firing-step, and covered
his head--or what was left of it. . . .

He reached Pall Mall, to be once again confronted with a large white
notice board. To the right were Boyaux 93 and 94--to the left, 91 and
90. Straight on to the front, 92 led to the firing line. With his
ultimate destination Vesuvius crater and the rum jar in view, he turned
to the right, and walked along the support trench. It was much the same
as Piccadilly: only being one degree nearer the front, it was one degree
more warlike. Boxes of bombs everywhere; stands for rifles on the
firing-step, which held them rigidly when they fired rifle grenades; and
every now and then a row of grey-painted rockets with a red top, which in
case of emergency send up the coloured flares that give the S.O.S.
signals to those behind. Also men: men who slept and ate and shaved and
wrote and got bored. A poor show is trench warfare!

"Look out, sir. They've knocked it in just round the corner last night
with trench mortars." A sergeant of the South Loamshires was speaking.
"Having a go at Laburnum Cottage, I'm thinking."

"What, that sniper's post? Have you been using it?"

"One of our men in there now, sir. He saw an Allemand go to ground in
his dug-out half an hour ago through the mist, and he reckons he ought to
finish breakfast soon, and come out again."

The Sapper crawled on his stomach over the _debris_ that blocked the
trench, and stopped at the entrance to Laburnum Cottage, officially known
as Sniper's Post No. 4. In a little recess pushed out to the front of
the trench, covered in with corrugated iron and surrounded by sandbags,
sprawled the motionless figure of a Lance-Corporal. With his eye glued
to his telescopic sight and his finger on the trigger of his rifle, he
seemed hardly to be breathing. Suddenly he gave a slight grunt, and the
next instant, with a sharp crack, the rifle fired.

"Get him?" asked the Sapper.

"Dunno, sir," answered the sniper, his eye still fixed to the telescope.
"Three 'undred yards, and 'e ducked like 'ell. It wasn't far off 'is
nibs, but one can't tell for sure." He got down and stretched himself.
"I've waited 'alf an 'our for the perisher, too, without no breakfast."
He grinned and scrambled over the broken-down trench to remedy the latter
deficiency, while once more the Sapper walked on. No need with this
particular regiment to