"That's all right," said the orderly with a bland smile of understanding. "You just lie down quietly and try and have a little sleep." "But the toad," Bubb remonstrated. "It's just goin' to jump." "I know, I know," said the orderly. "I see it myself. But try and compose yourself, chummy." "But, man, it's real," said Bubb sitting up. "Look yourself and you'll see it. Don't think I'm off my napper." "I don't think anything of the sort," said the orderly still smiling. "I often see things 'ere, myself. You lie down again and you'll be as right as rain in the morning." He put his fingers on Bubb's pulse, held them there for a moment, then pressed the boy gently back into the blankets. "I tell you there's a toad," said Bubb, struggling to get up again. "Look at that man lyin' there and see the toad on 'is knees. It's goin' to 'op into the bloke's mouth in a minute." To humour the patient, the orderly looked as he was directed and sure enough there was the toad, a real one, not a phantom originating from the disordered imagination of a sick man, perched on the knees of the sleeping patient. "So there is," said the orderly. "I thought you were delirious, matey. Well, we'll put the thing out," he said and shoved it off the blanket on to the floor. "Ye're not a sport," said Bubb and his voice was charged with contempt. "Why didn't you let it 'op? I was bettin' on it. Now my bloomin' toad 'as gone. Bet yer it'll not come in again either," said Bubb sadly. "I'll bet you it doesn't," said the orderly, but in a different tone. Bubb returned to his regiment three days later, a healthy and wiser man. Afterwards he would never take part in a conversation wherein vaseline was mentioned, but the sight of a frog always brought memories of toads to his mind, and all conversation had to be cut dead until Bubb had narrated for the hundredth time the tale of a toad in a cellar. CHAPTER XVI THE ROOKY What awaits you, boy, out yonder, where the great guns rip and thunder, There's a menace in their message, guns that called you from afar, But where'er your fortune guide you may no woe or ill betide you-- Heaven speed you, little soldier, gaily going to the war. (_From "Soldier Songs."_) The stifling heat of the summer day had given place to the coolness of night and a big moon rode gallantly amidst the stars of the dark blue eastern sky. A searchlight felt the country with a long, pale arm, lighting up the road, village and wood for miles around; a galaxy of starshells stood over the firing line where the meteoric flashes of bursting shells rioted along the horizon of war.