They walked on, hearing the constant chirrup of the larks, the brush of their feet through the clover, the faint jingle of some coins in Chrisfield's pocket, and in the distance the irregular snoring of an aeroplane motor. As they walked Andrews leaned over from time to time and picked a couple of the white clover flowers. The aeroplane came suddenly nearer and swooped in a wide curve above the field, drowning every sound in the roar of its exhaust. They made out the figures of the pilot and the observer before the plane rose again and vanished against the ragged purple clouds of the sky. The observer had waved a hand at them as he passed. They stood still in the darkening field, staring up at the sky, where a few larks still hung chirruping. “Ah'd lahk to be one o' them guys,” said Chrisfield. “You would?” “God damn it, Ah'd do anything to git out o' this hellish infantry. This ain't no sort o' life for a man to be treated lahk he was a nigger.” “No, it's no sort of life for a man.” “If they'd let us git to the front an' do some fightin' an' be done with it.... But all we do is drill and have grenade practice an' drill again and then have bayonet practice an' drill again. 'Nough to drive a feller crazy.” “What the hell's the use of talking about it, Chris? We can't be any lower than we are, can we?” Andrews laughed. “There's that plane again.” “Where?” “There, just goin' down behind the piece o' woods.” “That's where their field is.” “Ah bet them guys has a good time. Ah put in an application back in trainin' camp for Aviation. Ain't never heard nothing from it though. If Ah had, Ah wouldn't be lower than dirt in this hawg-pen.” “It's wonderful up here on the hill this evening,” said Andrews, looking dreamily at the pale orange band of light where the sun had set. “Let's go down and get a bottle of wine.” “Now yo're talkin'. Ah wonder if that girl's down there tonight.” “Antoinette?” “Um-hum.... Boy, Ah'd lahk to have her all by ma-self some night.” Their steps grew brisker as they strode along a grass-grown road that led through high hedgerows to a village under the brow of the hill. It was almost dark under the shadow of the bushes on either side. Overhead the purple clouds were washed over by a pale yellow light that gradually faded to grey. Birds chirped and rustled among the young leaves. Andrews put his hand on Chrisfield's shoulder. “Let's walk slow,” he said, “we don't want to get out of here too soon.” He grabbed carelessly at little cluster of hawthorn flowers as he passed them, and seemed reluctant to untangle the thorny branches that caught in his coat and on his loosely wound puttees. “Hell, man,” said Chrisfield, “we won't have time to get a bellyful. It must be gettin' late already.” They hastened their steps again and came in a moment to the first tightly shuttered houses of the village.