Star-shells rose at frequent intervals from the enemy lines; the British sent up very few. This was the case all along the line. The enemy, in eternal dread of raids, kept up a continual watch over No Man's Land. The party, now half way across, lay down, for a starshell rose from the German trench, stood high and lit the derelict levels with the brilliance of day. Then oscillating sleepily from side to side, it dropped a myriad petals of flame and sank lazily to earth. "They're getting the wind up," said Bowdy Benners, whispering across to Reynolds. "We'll have some dirty work 'fore we come back." The boy made no answer. Lying prone, he listened to the silence. How calm it was under the great, glorious moon. The levels were in a dream, a dream of Fairyland, and everything save the starshells and the glint of light that played on his rifle barrel was as motionless as though in a realm of frozen enchantment. The night drew closer to the boy; it seemed caressing his young head and body. He even felt sleepy. It would be good to lie there and rest. His eyes looked out in front on a dead man who lay there, scarcely a yard away. The boy did not feel afraid. That a dead soldier should be there seemed quite natural, in keeping with the new life which the youth had entered. "I suppose he was killed on a raid," he thought. "I wonder if he was going out or coming back.... What would mother...." He looked at the dead soldier with a fresh interest and his eyes filled with tears. He saw that the man was dressed in khaki and he lay on his back, his knees up and his bayonet pointing in air. From the bayonet standard to the man's head stretched an unfinished cobweb on which the spider was still busily working, fashioning circle and line. Under the moonlight the web was a brilliant and beautiful dream.... "Come out o' it, Reynold," said the sergeant, who was annoyed because the boy had not heard the first order to advance. "Spread out a little on both sides, for we've got to keep a look-out for a henemy patrol. We're not out on a six months' tour now," he added. "If yer ---- think so, ye're damned unlucky." The men spread out at the double and lay down again, leaving an interval of some twelve yards between each man and his neighbour. Reynolds lay flat, his hand gripping his rifle. Now and then a breeze rustled across the levels, set the poppy flowers nodding to one another, and died away again. The smell of the wet grasses and the damp earth was in his nostrils, and the narcotic odour of the soil almost lulled him into slumber. A mouse rustled along the ground in front, in and out amongst the nodding poppy flowers and disappeared. Near him somebody stifled a cough, but the sound struck harshly on his ears. Apart from that, silence and suspense.