rry. Come and help to bring it in; it's a chance for you
to distinguish yourself. Look sharp! or some of the Tommies will have
bagged it."

Something in this speech, and the careless, happy-go-lucky way in which
it was uttered, seemed to revive Jack's spirits. Mr. Lawson recognized
and spoke to him as he passed.

"Well, Fenleigh, they've begun to shake the pepper-box at us; but it'll
be our turn to-morrow."

There was nothing in the remark itself, but there was something in the
cheery tone and manly face of the speaker; something that brought fresh
courage to the soldier's heart, and filled it with a sudden
determination to emulate the example of his leader.

"Yes, sir," he answered briskly, and from that moment his fears were
banished.

Slowly the construction of the zareba was completed--a low, stone wall
in front, and earthen parapets and abattis of mimosa bushes on the
other three sides. The enemy still continued a dropping fire, which
was replied to with occasional rounds of shrapnel from the guns; but
Jack saw no further casualties.

Once, during the work of collecting stones, he encountered Valentine.

"I say," remarked the latter, acknowledging his cousin's salute with a
nod and a smile, "this reminds me of the time when we went up the river
with the girls to Starncliff, and built up a fireplace to boil the
kettle."

When darkness fell, the force was assembled within the zareba; the low
breastwork was manned in double rank, every soldier lying down in his
fighting place, with belts on, rifle by his side, and bayonet fixed;
all lights were extinguished, and talking and smoking forbidden. In
spite of the day's exertions, few men felt inclined for sleep; the
drumming of tom-toms, and the occasional whistle of a bullet overhead,
were not very effective as a lullaby, and served as a constant reminder
of the coming struggle.

Jack settled himself into as comfortable a position as his belts and
accoutrements would allow, and lay gazing up at the silent, starlit
sky. What was death? and what came after? Before another night he
himself might know. Lying there in perfect health, it seemed
impossible to realize that before another night his life might have
ended. He turned his thoughts to Brenlands. Yes; he would like to
have said good-bye to Aunt Mabel, and to have had once more the
assurance from her own lips that he was still "my own boy Jack!"

"I always make a mess of everything," he said to him