s veins. He had
feared chills and a serious illness, but he knew now that they would not
come. Youth, wiry and seasoned by hard campaigning, would quickly
recover, but knowing that, for the present, he could neither go forward
nor backward, he luxuriated in the grass, while the sun sucked the damp
out of his clothing.

Meanwhile the battle was raging over his head and he scarcely noticed
it. The shells whistled and shrieked incessantly, but, midway between
the contending lines, he felt that they were no longer likely to drop
near. So he relaxed, and a dreamy feeling crept over him. He could hear
the murmur of insects in the grass, and he reflected that the smaller
one was, the safer one was. A shell was not likely to take any notice of
a gnat.

He felt of his clothing. It was not dry yet and he would wait a little
longer. Anyhow, what was the use of hurrying? He turned over on his
side and continued to luxuriate in the long grass.

The warmth and dryness had sent the blood pulsing in a strong flood
through his veins once more, and the mental rebound came too. Although
he lay immediately between two gigantic armies which were sending
showers of metal at each other along a line of many miles, he considered
his escape sure and the thought of personal danger disappeared. If one
only had something to eat! It is curious how the normal instincts and
wants of man assert themselves even under the most dangerous conditions.
He began to think of the good German brown bread and the hot sausage
that he had devoured, and the hot coffee that he had drunk. One could
eat the food of an enemy without compunction.

But it was folly to move, even to seek dinner or supper, while the
shells were flying in such quantities over his head. As he turned once
more and lay on his back he caught glimpses as of swift shadows passing
high above, and the whistling and screaming of shells and shrapnel was
continuous. It was true that a missile might fall short and find him in
the grass, but he considered the possibility remote and it did not give
him a tremor. As he was sure now that he would suffer no bodily ill from
his long bath in the Marne he might remain in the grass until night and
then creep away. Blessed night! It was the kindly veil for all
fugitives, and no one ever awaited it with more eagerness than John
Scott.

The sun was now well beyond the zenith, and its golden darts came
indirectly. His clothing was thoroughly dry at last, and h