The boy--"Bou" the other called him--worked his way along the ground to an old cherry tree and was about to lift up a sort of trap-door at its roots when the other stopped him. "Never mind the gun," he said, "we'll just wait here until they do their morning strafe and then go into the buildings. I want to try for a few of them over on Piccadilly to-day and you can't use a machine gun for that. You'll simply have to be the observer, that's all." Bou came back, lit a cigarette which the other promptly extinguished and then subsided. "What you think you're going to do; shoot from the farm?" Bou couldn't possibly keep quiet any longer. "Sure, Mike; why not?" [Illustration: Canadian Soldiers in Action with Colt Machine Guns] "Oh, nothing; but do you think we can get away with it?" "Well, you've been here as long as I have and if you have not figured out the way the boches do things around this place I'm afraid I can't tell you; but I'll try. Now, they saw us come over here, didn't they? And they naturally think we are in the farm buildings. Just as soon as that fellow who was shooting at us can get word to their batteries they will proceed to shoot up the place. After about a dozen direct hits they will feel pretty well satisfied that they have either driven us out or 'na-pooed' us, so that will be our time to get inside and take a shot at this brilliant young Bavarian who will, without a doubt, be looking over the parapet in the hope that he may get a crack at us trying to 'beat it.' I've been wanting to get that guinea for a long time and have a hunch that this is our day. See?" Before the boy could answer there came a swift "whit; whit; whit;" and three "bang; bang; bangs" in and above the main building of the farm. Followed several more salvos, finally crashing through the walls and throwing up fountains of brick-dust and earth. After waiting several minutes they worked their way carefully along the hedge and around behind the buildings. Entering the one nearest the road, which was a mere shell with the roof and two walls entirely gone, they crept cautiously across the floor, and dodging the carcass of a cow that lay with its head in an old fireplace, they finally found themselves in a back room. Many bales of tobacco lay piled up on the floor, covered with the litter and wreckage from the upper story. Here the older man uncovered an opening under the tobacco, through which they entered a small chamber, perhaps eight feet square, comparatively clean. At one side of this narrow space lay a figure covered with the well-known blue overcoat of the French soldier. "Who's your friend?" inquired the youngster. "I don't know; he was here when I first came; but I think he was the original sniper of Sniper's Barn. Look at that pile of shells beside him." Near the dead soldier was his rifle and a great pile of empty cartridge cases.