"Done at last!" said the lieutenant. "What was that you said? ... All right" (he spoke through the telephone). "Infantry advancing. No sign of battery.... Hold it! Of course we must. If they get here they can see our battery from the roof. Besides, if we can hold them off until the battalion comes up we couldn’t have a better defensive position than the wall and ditch in front.... Gad! that’s bad." A shell had burst on the slope between the cottage and the road, clear of the infantry advancing farther to the right. "Take my glasses," continued the lieutenant, "go well to the left, and see if you can spot the direction when the next shell comes." In low distinct tones he spoke into the bell of the receiver: "Enemy firing line about 700 yards below crest, range say 5200." Another shell burst about a hundred yards to the left of the cottage. "See the flash?" asked the officer, with the receiver at his ear. "No." "They’re firing at long range.... Yes: all right.... They’ve had to change their position--our battery, I mean. Want another five minutes." He looked at his wrist watch. "By that time the Germans will be upon us, even if a lucky shot from one of their big guns don’t tumble the place about our ears. However!" Kenneth admired the young officer’s coolness as, laying down the receiver, he took up a rifle and posted himself at a loophole. The Germans had stopped firing: bending low they were creeping up yard by yard towards the wall. "Are you a good shot?" asked the officer. "Fair," replied Kenneth. "Then pick off the men on the flank. If they get across that dyke they’ll work round to our rear and have cover until they are close upon us." Kenneth, sighting for 500 yards, took aim at the man highest up on the enemy’s extreme left flank. The man dropped. Then he fired at the next man, and missed. A second shot found its mark. Meanwhile the officer and his three men methodically fired, each through his own loophole. And for four crowded minutes they poured their bullets into the line of scouts, which thinned away until not one was visible on the hillside. But the company behind was pushing steadily on, and now opened fire. A hail of bullets struck the walls of the cottage and whistled through the broken windows. The officer, creeping across the floor to the telephone receiver, was smothered with splinters of wood. One of the men uttered an oath and drew his hand across his cheek. "A free shave, Tom," said the next man with a grin. "Whiskers won’t grow there no more." Meanwhile, every twenty or thirty seconds a shell burst in the neighbourhood of the cottage, every time nearer. The noise was terrific. "Long time getting the range," said the lieutenant, holding the receiver to his ear. "Our boys are just going to start.... Yes; still coming on; range 5000: 400 less will smash _me_, so be careful." ... Almost immediately afterwards a British shell burst in front of the cottage.