_Father's Help._ Excuse me, Sir, but isn't that _rather_ too military? How would this do?--"The brethren will walk out towards Harwich to-morrow, where the Band of Hope from another parish has already assembled." IN THE FIELD. _Churchwarden Jones._ Advance in half-pew rushes from the right! _Sidesman Tomkins._ No. 1 half-pew, advance.... At the congregation in front at a thousand yards. _Parishioner Brown (to his neighbour)._ I say, how many bullets have you brought with you? _Parishioner Smith._ Fifteen. Fact is, I'm jolly hard up just now. Emily's been ill again, and one thing and another.... I did have twenty, but the baby swallowed two.... You might lend me some, old man. I promise to pay you back at the end of the month. _Parishioner Brown._ I'll lend you a couple, but that's really all I can spare.... Look at Boko swanking away like a bally millionaire. That's his tenth shot this afternoon. Fairly chucking his money about. _Parishioner Robinson._ I'll give you a hundred cartridges in exchange for your bayonet if you like. Sickening the Germans coming just now; it's my birthday next week and I'd been practically promised one by Aunt Sarah. IN ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD. _Elder Perks, C.B. (that is to say, "completely bald")._ What the blank blanket do those blanks think they're doing? _Lay-Helper Snooks._ I beg your pardon, Sir, for reminding you, but _military_ terms are not allowed to be used. _Elder Perks._ Quite right, Snooks; I forgot myself. Kindly request the organist to sound the Assemble. Those naughty lads are running in the wrong direction. AT THE GERMAN HEADQUARTERS. _German Officer (to prisoner)._ You are a civilian and you are caught bearing arms. Have you anything to offer in your defence? _Prisoner._ Civilian be blowed! I'm recognised by the War Office. Look at my---- Oh lor, it's come off again! _German Officer._ Well? _Prisoner._ I know appearances are against me, but---- _German Officer._ What is your rank? _Prisoner._ Er--Chairman of the Committee. _German Officer._ I thought so. (_To Sergeant_) Take him away and shoot him. (_To Prisoner_) Any last message you wish to leave will be delivered. _Prisoner (drawing himself up nobly)._ Tell my wife not to mourn me. Tell her that I die happy (_his voice breaks for a moment_) knowing that my death (_with deep emotion_) is--technically--(_a happy smile illuminates his face_) an illegal one. * * * And so I tell James not to worry. If the worst befalls him--and all the time when I was writing "prisoner" above I seemed to see James in that position--if the worst befalls him, his partner will at least be able to bring an action against somebody. For we are not "civilians." We are--well, I don't quite know _what_ we are. A. A. M. * * * * * OUR MIGHTY PENMEN. (_In acknowledgment of the services of some of the gifted representatives of "The Daily Mail" and "The Daily Chronicle."_)