Few as they were, it took some minutes to come at them, and before the last hand-to-hand scrimmage had finished there came from the mist to rearward a clatter of rifle fire, the rush of a charging line. The Germans had been so occupied with their task of clearing out the last of the defence that the fresh attack took them by surprise. The rescuing companies were in on them before they could face about to meet the charge, so that the charge went crashing home, swept the trenches clear in a wild five minutes’ work, pushed the Germans across the road, and drove into the trenches there after them. At this critical moment another two companies charged in from the rear—companies in those days, remember, were given, and cheerfully accepted, the work of battalions, just as platoons took and did the work of companies; and the Germans, taken in flank and rear, were accounted for to the last man in killed, wounded, and prisoners. The Captain was picked up in that last patch of trenches the battalion had held. He carried wounds enough to have killed a dozen, and his last word again was, ‘I’m glad we were able to hold on—till we were relieved.’ They found Sergeant Billy Ruff, too, with no more than a few flesh wounds and a smashed leg. The Adjutant, in the piecing out of the end of the story, sat by him and asked questions while the sergeant’s wounds were being dressed and he sucked hard on a damp cigarette. ‘At all costs, the orders was,’ said the sergeant at the finish. ‘An’ that patch o’ duck-pond trenches has just cost me seven-an’-six that was owed me by my corporal that’s killed, a cock-eyed leg, an’ a carcase full o’ rheumatics for the rest o’ my days; an’ it’s cost the army the finest set of officers that ever stepped, an’ the best battalion o’ fightin’ men it owned.’ ‘Amen to all of that,’ said the Adjutant. ‘But—you held on.’ ‘Course we held on,’ said Sergeant Billy Ruff, his voice showing just a shade of surprise at the comment. ‘Y’see we was ordered to hold on.’ PRESS BUREAU: PASSED FOR PUBLICATION. FOOTNOTES [1] Slang Hindustani—‘pigs.’ [2] ‘Talked.’ [3] ‘Come on.’ [4] ‘Quick.’ [5] ‘See.’ _CHILDREN’S CHILDREN._ BY MAJOR-GENERAL G. F. MACMUNN, C.B., D.S.O. Old Schwartz rode over the _bult_ on his lean _veldt_ pony, his corduroys flapping in the wind and his _veldt schoen_ barely resting in the stirrups. And the prospect pleased him. Not a roof-tree could he see except his own. The blue sheen on the scrub and the shimmer on the vlei grass gave an air of peace on a road untold that men have searched the world for since time was. Away on the slopes were some of his own cattle, and a herd of his own horses; several generations of mares, each with their foals, were galloping down to the pan for the evening. The prospect was such as every old _voortrekker_ dreamed of and looked for.