muddy desolation I beheld wretched hovels wherein khaki-clad forms moved, and from one of these damp and dismal structures a merry whistling issued, with hoarse laughter.
On we tramped, through rain and mud, which, like my helmet, seemed to grow momentarily heavier.
"K.," said I, as he floundered into a shell hole, "about how heavy did you say these helmets were?"
"About a pound!" said he, fierce-eyed. "Confound the mud!"
Away to our left and high in air a puff of smoke appeared, a pearl-grey, fleecy cloud, and as I, unsuspecting, watched it writhe into fantastic shapes, my ears were smitten with a deafening report, and instinctively I ducked.
"Shrapnel!" said F., waving his hand in airy introduction. "They're searching the road yonder I expect — ah, there goes another! Yes, they're trying the road yonder — but here's the trench — in with you!"
I am free to confess that I entered that