fresh with upturned earth, placed a shovel in his hands and told
him to dig his grave.

When they stepped aside, the terrified boy could see the camera before
him and the six soldiers standing at attention a few paces away. Already
the clicking handles started turning.

"Dig!" shouted the Captain.

"I don't want a grave," whimpered the frightened creature as several
pigeons approached. "I don't want a grave," as he turned up the loose
earth with trembling shovel-strokes. "I don't want a grave," and tears
ran in trickling rivulets down his silly face.

Even an idiot could understand. At one side of him he was confronted
with death for no apparent reason at all. And on the other side of him
flew his pigeons.

Suddenly the signal was given; the six rifles were raised, and a volley
of blank cartridges shot at the boy. The frightened birds flew into the
air as the twisted frame of Silly Peter sank into the soft, upturned
earth.

When the smoke had cleared, a soldier came up and shouted: "Hey fool?
Get up!--You're not dead." But the boy only sobbed, with his face beside
the shovel in the fresh earth.

The soldiers were dismissed, and the Captain climbed into his carriage
and drove away. The sheep-like inhabitants of the village of M----
feared to venture near the spot of military manoeuvre.

Presently an old farmer, driving his horse across the square, stopped,
lifted the boy, and said: "Don't cry, Peter. It is only a little joke.
See, you're not dead--here, pick up your hat. See all the pigeons are
around us--you're not dead."

The boy seemed numb and twisted like the limb of a tree as the old man
following his horse helped him across the market-place and through the
lane.

"Don't be foolish, Peter. You're not dead. See the pigeons; see the
sky. Look, here is Luba--she will bring us soup."

But the boy squinted at the sun through a film of tears and with his
one-sided mouth mumbled: "I don't want a grave."

III

The Captain lit a cigarette as he leaned back in the carriage. The
horses snorted as they drew up the hill. "Why," he asked himself, "are
people afraid of dying? For many, life can hold little attraction, yet
even an imbecile fears death as though it were the devil himself. Yet
each man nurses his own pet fears."

The carriage rocked from side to side as it climbed the hill, and the
Captain turned his mind to his young wife. "It's all imagination; that's
what I think," he said to himself. "It's a