"Please be very quiet," he said. He settled back, as if for sleep, but his half-shut eyes were watchful. A couple of minutes passed, then a fly circled his head, and made for the spot on the spread. It nosed its way in, crawled heavily a few inches up the coverlet, and turned its legs up. Two more came, alighted, sniffed and died. "You see," he said. * * * * * Next day, the head of the Coxyde Poste motored over to Furnes for a call on his wounded helper. "Where does all that chatter come from?" he asked. Sister Teresa smiled. "It's your silent friend," she said. "He is the noisiest old thing in the ward." "Talking to himself?" inquired the doctor. "Have a look for yourself," urged the nurse. They stepped into the ward, and down the stone floor, till they came to the supply table. Here they pretended to busy themselves with lint. "Most interesting," Watts was saying. "That is a new idea to me. Here they've been telling me for a year that there's no way but the slow push, trench after trench--" "Let me say to you," interrupted the Saxon lad. "You will pardon me, if I finish what I am saying," went on Watts in full tidal flow. "What was it I was saying? Oh, yes, I remember--that slow hard push is not the only way, after all. You tell me--" "That's the way it is all day long," explained the sister. "Chatter, chatter, chatter. They are telling each other all they know. You would think they would get fed up. But as fast as one of them says something, that seems to be a new idea to the other. Mr. Watts acts like a man who has been starved." Watts caught sight of his friend. "We've killed all the flies," he shouted. WOMEN UNDER FIRE