Still, each man to his taste. Corporal Mucklewame, for one, greatly prefers winter to summer. "In the winter," he points out to Sergeant M'Snape, "a body can breathe withoot swallowing a wheen bluebottles and bum-bees. A body can aye streitch himself doon under a tree for a bit sleep withoot getting wasps and wee beasties crawling up inside his kilt, and puddocks craw-crawing in his ear! A body can keep himself frae sweitin'--" "He can that!" assents M'Snape, whose spare frame is more vulnerable to the icy breeze than that of the stout corporal. However, the balance of public opinion is against Mucklewame. Most of us are unfeignedly glad to feel the warmth of the sun again. That working-party, filling sandbags just behind the machine-gun emplacement, are actually singing. Spring gets into the blood, even in this stricken land. The Boche over the way resents our efforts at harmony. Sing us a song, a song of Bonnie Scotland! Any old song will do. By the old camp-fire, the rough-and-ready choir Join in the chorus too. "You'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road"-- 'Tis a song that we all know, To bring back the days in Bonnie Scotland, Where the heather and the bluebells-- _Whang_! The Boche, a Wagnerian by birth and upbringing, cannot stand any more of this, so he has fired a rifle-grenade at the glee-party--on the whole a much more honest and direct method of condemnation than that practiced by musical critics in time of peace. But he only elicits an encore. Private Nigg perches a steel helmet on the point of a bayonet, and patronisingly bobs the same up and down above the parapet. These steel helmets have not previously been introduced to the reader's notice. They are modelled upon those worn in the French Army--and bear about as much resemblance to the original pattern as a Thames barge to a racing yacht. When first issued, they were greeted with profound suspicion. Though undoubtedly serviceable,--they saved many a crown from cracking round The Bluff the other day,--they were undeniably heavy, and they were certainly not becoming to the peculiar type of beauty rampant in "K(1)." On issue, then, their recipients elected to regard the wearing of them as a peculiarly noxious form of "fatigue." Private M'A. deposited his upon the parapet, like a foundling on a doorstep, and departed stealthily round the nearest traverse, to report his new headpiece "lost through the exigencies of military service." Private M'B. wore his insecurely perched upon the top of his tam-o'-shanter bonnet, where it looked like a very large ostrich egg in a very small khaki nest. Private M'C. set his up on a convenient post, and opened rapid fire upon it at a range of six yards, surveying the resulting holes with the gloomy satisfaction of the vindicated pessimist. Private M'D. removed the lining from his, and performed his ablutions in the inverted crown.