Gravest of all the assembly are those seated nearest the brazier, where the hare soup is stewing, and it is not difficult to infer that they are the veterans, the supersnipers, of the section. Their age, the manner in which the younger snipers defer to them and give them place, the cool confidence of their every look and movement, all mark them out as leaders among men. A notable group it was. Says the correspondent: “Each a man of distinct personality, yet collectively the deadliest unit on the whole battle-line; each of a name known outside the division and of a skill which has brought the section success in the trenches and credit on the test rifle-ranges behind the lines. Yet no trace of arrogance shows itself in their demeanor, and the careless observer might possibly have only caught a hint of the great reserve strength embodied in each of them. And all sit gravely and watch big Adam, who wields the spoon, stir the soup.” Suddenly there is a diversion from the other end of the dugout. Here two or three younger men have been sitting, and their conversation, gradually rising in key, has been slowly breaking in as a disturbing factor to the solemnity of their elders round the brazier. The noise now reaches a climax and an indignant voice exclaims: “Ye’re just a blether, Jimmy Duffus; just a big, bletherin’ eediot.” [Illustration: © _New York Herald._ The Scots in the Village of Loos A Highlander Is Rescuing a Little French Girl from a Danger Alley.] “But I tell ye, Wullie, I heard the officer sayin’ so,” says Jimmy aggrievedly. “Well, even tho ye did,” rejoins Willie, “what richt hae ye to be turnin’ ower what the officer says in public?” “He didna tell me to keep it quate, Wullie Black.” “He didna tell ye onything at a’. It was jist thae big lugs o’ yours happened by at the time. And noo, like the big mooth ye are, ye goun clyping it a’ ower the place.” Jimmy rose threateningly, and Willie was not a whit behind him. Both were prepared for an immediate settlement. Another second and they would have come to blows, but the sergeant intervened. “Come ower here, baith o’ ye,” he said sternly, and the two slunk up to him. “It was Duffus here, sairgeant, was sayin’ that the officer was sayin’ that the Germans wud attack——” “Be quate, Black,” broke in the sergeant. “Ye’re but a poor, ignorant boy, Wullie,” he continued, speaking with great deliberation, “only good to hold the horse by the head. Go and clean that rifle or I’ll tak it from ye a’thegither.” Completely subdued by so dire a threat, Willie went off to this task with alacrity. Not only did he love his rifle, but he feared his sergeant’s eloquence. “And as for you, Duffus,” said the latter, turning to the other culprit, “if you do not keep your mooth shut aboot what your betters say, ye’ll be oot o’ the section the morn’s mornin’. Jist mind in future that onything the officer wants the section to know, I’ll tell ye.”