"Shut ze door ven you come out," said the old woman of his billet.
"Fermez la porte, mon vieux."
The living Bantam went to see the dead one, and came downstairs much
moved by grief.
"I've seed poor Bill," he said.
"As-tu ferme la porte?" said the old woman, anxiously.
The Bantam wondered at the anxious inquiry; asked the reason of it.
"C'est a cause du chat!" said the old woman. "Ze cat, Monsieur, 'e
'ave 'ad your friend in ze passage tree time already to-day. Trois
fois!"
Poor little men born of diseased civilization! They were volunteers to
a man, and some of them with as much courage as soldiers twice their
size.
They were the Bantams who told me of the Anglican padre at Longueval.
It was Father Hall of Mirfield, attached to the South African Brigade.
He came out to a dressing station established in the one bit of ruin
which could be used for shelter, and devoted himself to the wounded
with a spiritual fervor. They were suffering horribly from thirst,
which made their tongues swell and set their throats on fire.
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