"You've got cheek, you 'ave," he said, "talkin' to an officer like that." "He!" exploded Horace, "he's made of wood, head and all!" "Go slow," said the Tommy, "'e's a proper bit of all right, 'e is, don't you make no mistake. That's 'is way. 'E's just the same under fire, never turns a 'air. 'E was drawlin' 'is orders this mornin' like 'e was on parade. An' it was a tight corner, too." "Were you attacked this morning?" Horace asked, with sudden interest. "We fair were! I was through the Boer War, an' the 'ottest fight we 'ad in that was frost-bitten aside o' this mornin'." "I'm not surprised," the boy retorted. "I could have told that human icicle with the eye-glass--if he'd had the sense to listen--that there are five corps facing your two. Besides, they've reserves ready to jump you any minute." The Tommy looked at him curiously. "Not now they won't," he said. "Why not?" "They're in a blue funk." "You mean--scared?" The soldier nodded mysteriously. "They'll be driven on, scare or no!" declared the boy. "What did you do to scare them all?" "Nothin'." "Then, what?" "They've got the trembles." Horace saw that there was something behind the Tommy's evident reluctance to speak, but, little by little, he won him round. [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The War Illustrated."_ SAVED IN A HAIL OF SHELL. British drummer who dashed into the zone of fire to save a wounded officer. When hit himself, he fell, but hooking his feet under the officer's arms, propelled himself by his elbows backwards into safety.] "There's queer things 'appen in war!" he remarked. "Very queer," agreed Horace, thinking of Mme. Maubin's prophecy and remembering some of the tales he had heard the French gunners tell. "Mark what I'm sayin'--if it wasn't for some o' them queer things, I wouldn't be 'ere talkin' to you." "You saw something?" queried Horace, jumping to a conclusion. "I saw it? We all saw it. First there was a sort o' yellow mist, sort o' risin' out o' the ground before the Huns as they came to the top of the 'ill, came on like a solid wall, they did--springin' out o' the earth, just solid; no end o' them. I just gave up. It's no use our fightin' the 'ole German race in one day, thinks I. It's all up with us. The next minute, up comes a funny cloud o' light, an' when it clears off--this is gospel truth, I'm tellin'--there's a tall man, with yellow 'air, in gold armor, on a white 'orse, 'oldin' 'is sword up an' 'is mouth open. Then, before you could say 'knife,' the 'Uns 'ad turned an' we was after them, fightin' like ninety."[17] He stopped, in a shamefaced silence.