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Presently he came into the wooden hut, with a flushed face.
"Sorry I had to keep you," he said. "Tomorrow there will be one swine
less in the world."
"A death sentence?"
He nodded.
"A damned coward. Said he didn't mind rifle-fire, but couldn't stand
shells. Admitted he left his post. He doesn't mind rifle-fire! . . .
Well, tomorrow morning."
The officer laughed grimly, and then listened for a second.
There were some heavy crumps falling over Kemmel Hill, rather close,
it seemed, to our wooden hut.
"Damn those German gunners" said the officer. "Why can't they give us
a little peace?"
He turned to his papers, but several times while I talked with him he
jerked his head up and listened to a heavy crash.
On the way back I saw a man on foot, walking in front of a mounted
man, past the old hill of the Scherpenberg, toward the village of
Locre. There was something in the way he walked, in his attitude--the
head hunched forward a little, and his arms behind his back--which
made me turn to look at him.


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