ox after it is lowered."

"Yes, and I get the words," said the judge's son, who knew the language
of the Browns: "'God with us, not to take what is theirs, but to keep
what is ours! God with us!'"

"They say some private--Stransky, I believe his name is--composed the
words from a saying of Partow, their chief of staff, and it spread," put
in the very tired voice.

"As it would at a time of high pressure like this, when all humanity's
nerves form an electric circuit," said the judge's son. "'God with us!'
What a power they put into that!"

"But God is with us, not with them!" put in Peterkin earnestly. "Let's
have our song to answer them," he added, striking up the tune.

So they sung the song they had sung as they started off to the war--a
song about camping in the squares of the Browns' capital and dining in
the Browns' government palace; a hurrahing, marchy song, but without
exactly the snap in keeping with its character.

"The trouble is that they lie at the mouths of their burrows and get us
naked to their fire," said the banker's son. "We have to take their
positions--they don't try to take ours."

"But we must go on! We can't give up now!" said the barber's son.

"Yes, we must go on!" agreed some of the others stubbornly.

"Yes, yes," came faintly from the very tired voice.

"We shall win! The aggressive always wins!" declared Peterkin.

Then the redoubt shook with an explosion and their eyes were blinded
with dust.

"I thought it was about time!" said the barber's son.

"Yes, the--!" snarled Pilzer.

The shell had struck some distance away from where they sat, and as the
dust settled they heard the news of the result:

"One fellow had his arm broken and another had his head crushed."

"It'll keep us from working on the mine while we mend the breach," said
the barber's son.

While the judge's son was telling the news, the colonel of the 128th and
Captain Fracasse were eating their biscuits together and making
occasional remarks rather than holding a conversation.

"Well, Westerling is a field-marshal," said the colonel.

"Yes, he's got something out of it!"

"The men seem to be losing their spirit--there's no doubt of it!"
exclaimed the colonel, more aloud to himself than to Fracasse, after a
while.

"No wonder!" replied Fracasse. Martinet though he was, he spoke in
grumbling loyalty to his soldiers. "What kind of spirit is there in
doing the work of navvies? Spirit! No soldiers ever foug