employed
until the time had arrived to hurl the last reserve into the melee, at
the most critical point.

And all the while, never a sound of firing, never a sight of the red and
blue of the French uniforms. The war might have been two hundred miles
away!

Meanwhile Tommy on his marches was discovering things. Wonder of
wonders, this curious people called "baccy" tabac! "And if yer wants a
bit of bread yer awsks for pain, strewth!" He loved to hear the French
gabble to him in their excited way; he never thought that reciprocally
his talk was just as funny. The French matches earned unprintable names.
But on the whole he admired sunny France with its squares of golden corn
and vegetables, and when he passed a painted Crucifix with its cluster
of flowering graves, he would say: "Golly, Bill, ain't it pretty? We
oughter 'ave them at 'ome, yer know." And of course he kept on saying
what he was going to do with "Kayser Bill."

One night after the evening meal, the men of the Company gave a little
concert outside the mill. The flower-scented twilight was fragrantly
beautiful, and the mill stream gurgled a lullaby accompaniment as it
swept past the trailing grass. Nor was there any lack of talent. One
reservist, a miner since he had left the army, roared out several songs
concerning the feminine element at the sea-side, or voicing an inquiry
as to a gentleman's companion on the previous night. Then, with an
entire lack of appropriateness, another got up and recited "The Wreck of
the _Titanic_" in a most touching and dramatic manner. Followed a song
with a much appreciated chorus--

"Though your heart may ache awhile,
Never mind!
Though your face may lose its smile,
Never mind!
For there's sunshine after rain,
And then gladness follows pain,
You'll be happy once again,
Never mind!"

The ditty deals with broken vows, and faithless hearts, and blighted
lives; just the sort of song that Tommy loves to warble after a good
meal in the evening. It conjured to the Subaltern's eyes the picture of
the dainty little star who had sung it on the boards of the Coliseum.
And to conclude, Madame's voice, French, and sonorously metallic, was
heard in the dining-room striking up the "Marseillaise." Tommy did not
know a word of it, but he yelled "March on" (a very good translation of
"Marchons") and