A party of us was sent to guard a bridge that our engineers were repairing, it having been blown up the previous day by big shell fire. I had just got off duty and was sitting before the log fire in the block-house with a few other fellows, when in popped a little Algerian, as black as the ace of spades. On recognizing that we were Scots, he held out his hand and said: "My name's MacPherson; what's yours?" He made himself right at home, and we shared our bully beef and biscuit with him. We had just been warming it. Our black "Scotsman" insisted on staying with us, and so we adopted him as a sort of mascot. Shortly after we took up our new position in the line, a German sniper began to annoy us, and continued to do so almost ceaselessly. Every time anything showed so much as an inch above the crest, it drew fire, and a number of our men were shot passing traverses. There was a wood near our position, and we were pretty sure the fire was coming from there although we could not locate it. The Algerian was a crack shot, and wanted to prove it, so he went to our lieutenant and said: "Me get sniper, if you like." "Go ahead," said the lieutenant, half jokingly. It seemed ridiculous to think of "MacPherson"--with his tiny body and his face of a black angel "getting" anybody. The little Algerian disappeared. At the end of three hours, after we had all given him up as lost or strayed, he returned, clutching a small untidy package rolled in a French newspaper. "Well, then, he didn't eat you up, did he?" some one asked. The little Algerian understood English poorly, but he generally got the gist of things. This time he evidently thought he had been asked whether he had eaten up the sniper. "Ugh!" he exclaimed; "me no _eat_ sniper, but _git_ him. Look here." Very gingerly he unrolled his sheet of newspaper and, as evidence that he had landed his man, exposed to view a human ear. He wanted to present the ear to the lieutenant, but the officer declined the honour.[1]