His shape was domed and his colour brown, And I took him up and I get him down In the lamp's full light, in the very front of it, Ready and glad to bear the brunt of it; And then, having raised my hand and blessed him, I thus in appropriate words addressed him:-- "Oh, soon to be numbered with the dead, Your fortunate brothers, prepare," I said, "Prepare to vanish this very day And go to your doom the silent way. For DEVONPORT's Lord will soon decree, With his eye on you and his eye on me, That you're only a useless luxury; And, since the War on the whole continues, We must tighten our belts and brace our sinews, And give up the things we liked before, And never, like _Oliver_, ask for more. Since this is so and the War endures, I am bound to abandon you and yours, And wherever I meet you I must frown On your sweet white core and your coat of brown. But no, since you are the only one, The last of a line that is spent and done, I shall give myself pleasure once again And set you free from a life of pain. Prepare, prepare, for I mean to punch you, My lonely friend, and to crunch and munch you." So saying I smiled in a sort of dream On my absolute ultimate chocolate-cream; Then swiftly I reached my hand to get him And popped him into my mouth and ate him. * * * * * [Illustration: _First Burglar_. "THEY SEEM TO BE JUST FINDING OUT THERE'S TOO MANY DOGS ABOUT. WOT PEOPLE WANT TO KEEP DOGS AT ALL FOR I NEVER COULD SEE." _Second Burglar_. "COMB 'EM OUT. THAT'S WOT I SEZ. COMB 'EM OUT."] * * * * * TACTICS. "Maman! à quel saint prie-t-on--" began Jeanne. Ah! but no, a recollection flashed across her mind and was reinforced by other memories. "J'en ai fini avec les saints," she mused, proceeding to the other end of the room where, full of intention, she busied herself among some books. Yes, she was now quite disillusioned; that latest blow, on her recent tenth birthday, had confirmed finally her long-growing suspicion--prayer to the saints was unavailing. After a time; "Maman, pour que Papa vienne en permission à qui faut-il que l'on s'adresse?" "A son colonel, mon enfant. Mais, ma fi-fille, tu sais...!" Jeanne, with an air of having something to decide for herself, paid no heed, but resumed the study of her picture-book description of the French Army, murmuring: "Un colonel--est-ce que c'est comme un saint, ou bien est-ce que c'est comme le bon Dieu lui-même?" Some moments of deep silence spent in intense study ended with a triumphant: "Bon! j'y suis." That was exactly what she had wished to discover, the very source of power. "'Les officiers attachés à un général pour l'exécution et la transmission de ses ordres,'" re-read Jeanne, and commented, "Et tout cela s'appelle l'_é-tat ma-jor_ du général. Bon! c'est bien comme je le pensais; c'est le général qui est à la tête de tout."