neat rows. The gun roar gave it an appearance
exceptionally sinister. Even in their long rest,
we realised, these soldiers were far from immune
to German shells.
"The trench toll," Williams muttered. "Sad enough place! Every time I come here that cemetery's larger."
And just across the road the living busied themselves so the other fellow's cemetery wouldn't fail to grow. Some were practising at a rifle range. A rattling blacksmith shop lurked under a hill. Men fidgeted about two observation balloons, partly hidden by trees—gross, corpulent things, ready to take the air. And always the guns re- minded us that this care for the living and the dead was exercised under heavy fire.
Farther on we gazed with amazement at a football game which swept swiftly through its changing phases in a rough field to the left. The shouts of the players failed to reach us because of the pervading roar. They were like pupils in a deaf and dumb asylum from whose open, eager mouths comes only a shocking silence. But there was no question that they were having a good time, cheering clever plays, and jibing at bad ones. Within their easy view, close to the road, lay a dead man. His stolid, studded boots seemed striving to advance towards them.
