ld have gone to the ends of the earth for
Jeanne, have clubbed over the head any fellow-savage who should seek
to rob him of Jeanne. It did not occur to him that savage instinct had
already sent him into the jaws of death, solely in order to establish
his primitive man's ownership of Jeanne. When he came to reflect, in
his Doggie-ish way, on the motives of his exploit, he was somewhat
baffled. Jeanne, with her tragic face, and her tragic history, and her
steadfast soul shining out of her eyes, was the most wonderful woman
he had ever met. She personified the heroic womanhood of France. The
foul invader had robbed her of her family and her patrimony. The dead
were dead, and could not be restored; but the material wealth,
God--who else?--had given him this miraculous chance to recover; and
he had recovered it. National pride helped to confuse issues. He, an
Englishman, had saved this heroic daughter of France from poverty....

If only he could have won back to his own trench, and, later, when the
company returned to Frelus, he could have handed her the packet and
seen the light come into those wonderful eyes!

* * * * *

Anyhow, she had received it. She sent him a thousand thanks. How did
she look, what did she say when she cut the string and undid the seals
and found her little fortune?

Translate Jeanne into a princess, the dirty waterproof package into a
golden casket, himself into a knight disguised as a squire of low
degree, and what more could you want for a first-class fairy-tale? The
idea struck Doggie at the moment of "lights out," and he laughed
aloud.

"It doesn't take much to amuse some people," growled his neighbour,
Penworthy.

"Sign of a happy disposition," said Doggie.

"What've you got to be happy about?"

"I was thinking how alive we are, and how dead you and I might be,"
said Doggie.

"Well, I don't think it funny thinking how one might be dead," replied
Penworthy. "It gives me the creeps. It's all very well for you. You'll
stump around for the rest of your life like a gentleman on a wooden
leg. Chaps like you have all the luck; but as soon as I get out of
this, I'll be passed fit for active service ... and not so much of
your larfing at not being dead. See?"

"All right, mate," said Doggie. "Good night."

Penworthy made no immediate reply; but presently he broke out:

"What d'you mean by talking like that? I'd hate being dead."

A voice from the far end o