y
objectionable about lunch-time, and that, whenever you go in the trench,
his bullets seem to follow you--an unerring instinct brings them towards
food. A larger piece of earth than usual in my stew routed the last
vestige of my good-humour. Prudence warning me of the futility of
losing my temper with a Hun seventy yards away, I called loudly for my
servant.

"Jones," I said, when he came up, "take away this stuff. It's as bad as
a gas attack. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with Maconochie, I'm fed up
with the so-called 'fresh' meat that sometimes makes its appearance. Try
to get hold of something new; give me a jugged hare, or a pheasant, or
something of that kind."

"Yessir," said Jones, and he hurried off round the traverse to finish my
stew himself.

It never does to speak without first weighing one's words. This is an
old maxim--I can remember something about it in one of my first
copy-books; but, like most other maxims, it is never learnt in real
life. My thoughtless allusion to "jugged hare" set my servant's brain
working, for hares and rabbits have, before now, been caught behind the
firing line. The primary difficulty, that of getting to the country
haunted by these animals, was easily solved, for, though an officer
ought not to allow a man to leave a trench without a very important
reason, the thought of new potatoes at a ruined farm some way back, or
cherries in the orchard, generally seems a sufficiently important reason
to send one's servant back on an errand of pillage. Thus it was that,
unknown to me, my servant spent part of the next three days big-game
hunting behind the firing line.

My first intimation of trouble came to me the day after we had gone back
to billets for a rest, when an orderly brought me a message from Brigade
Headquarters. It ran as follows:--

"Lieut. Newcombe is to report at Brigade Headquarters this afternoon
at 2 p.m. to furnish facts with reference to his servant, No. 6789,
Pte. Jones W., who, on the 7th inst., discharged a rifle behind the
firing line, to the great personal danger of the Brigadier, Pte.
Jones's Company being at the time in the trenches.

"(_Signed_) G. MACKINNON,
"_Brigade Major_."

"Jones," I cried, "come and explain this to me," and I read him the
incriminating document.

My servant's English always suffers when he is nervous.

"Well, sir," he began, "it 'appened like this 'ere. After what you said
the other day abaht bul