Jimmy had explained the rumbling as being the noise of guns that were perhaps twenty kilometers away. O. D. couldn’t put down the idea that he was near the front, the thing that he had been working toward since becoming a soldier. The idea gripped him so strongly that he couldn’t stay the restless feelings which worked through his veins fire-like. He sat up, reached for his shoes, slipped them on, and crawled out of the tent. The night was singularly clear for France. A growing moon and myriad stars had purged the world of shadows and given it a generous possession of silver light. Except for the soft noises made by the horses and the occasional rumble that came from the hills of Verdun, the night was quiet and suggestive of peaceful repose. O. D. looked and listened at the things of the night. A sentry strolled leisurely along the road where the guns of his regiment were camouflaged. Far in front of him a chain of golden rockets climbed against the horizon and disappeared as if by magic. The thing that O. D. had thought was thunder came to his ears again. Then all was so quiet that he could hear Jimmy sleeping. “I’m almost at the front,” soliloquized the man to himself. “No one else seems to know it, or feel it, but me. Guess I better try to sleep.” He turned to go back in the pup tent. A soft, subdued thing like the drone of a bee rose and fell on the night air. O. D. jumped forward a trifle, startled by the sinister beelike noise that seemed almost overhead. Rat-tat-tat-tat! B-o-o-m! B-o-o-m! Rat-tat-tat-tat! The peace of the night ended in the fierce barking of machine-guns and the crash of anti-air-craft cannon. Between shots, the soft droning that came from the skies continued in a casual, business-like way that caused cold perspiration to come unbidden to O. D.’s forehead. B—A—N—G! A bomb exploded about four hundred yards from where O. D. stood, and the ground quivered beneath him. The sound of waking men stirred him to speak. “What—— What is it?” he asked. “Nothin’ but a Boche plane droppin’ bombs. They’re goin’ at him with the archies, but might just as well use pea-shooters. Never get a plane with that stuff,” came the answer from a dark part of the woods. W-h-i-r-r! Something was passing directly overhead. O. D. looked up. He saw a black shadow flit between himself and the moon. Then another bomb exploded. O. D. dived into the tent. He landed on Jimmy. “What the hell’s up?” asked Jimmy, coming out of sleep. “Listen,” whispered O. D. in a hoarse voice. Jimmy listened. “Nothin’ but some Boche planes, I guess. They’ll never get us, but I hate ’em just the same. Turn over and let’s _cushay encore_.” O. D. lay down again, but did not sleep until the droning had ceased and the guns had become quiet. Fatigue finally overpowered his senses and he fell into deep slumber. “Wake up, O. D. Time to _monjay_.” Jimmy, fully dressed, was bending over O. D.