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II.—­Ermyntrude.

It so happened in a quiet part of the line that men were scarce and work abundant, so it was decided to use mules to carry the rations further than usual.  All went well until one night when friend Fritz changed his habits and put some assorted fireworks rather near the mules.

Now the transport, being human and moreover unaccustomed to fireworks, disliked this entertainment.  Therefore they sought what shelter they could.  In a few minutes the Hun repented, but no mules and no rations could the transport see.  Moreover it began to rain.  So back they went and spoke at great length of the hundreds of seventeen-inch which had blown up all the mules.

The morning began to come and a machine-gun subaltern, looking at a black East in search of daylight, so that he might say, “It is now light; I may go to bed,” was somewhat startled.  “For,” he said, “I have received shocks as the result of too much whisky of old, but from a split tea and chloride of lime—­no!  It must be the pork and beans.”  However, he collected eight puzzled but peaceful mules and handed them to a still more bewildered adjutant, who knew not if they were “trench stores” or “articles to be returned to salvage.”

In the meanwhile the Transport Officer was making inquiries, and he recovered the eight mules.  “All,” he said, “are back, except Ermyntrude.  I grieve for Ermyntrude, but still more for my driver’s fate.”

Where Ermyntrude spent the day no one knows.  All that is known is of her conduct the next night.  About eleven o’clock she stepped on a shelter, and, being a heavy mule, came into the trench abruptly.  This worried but did not hurt her, and she proceeded down the trench at a steady trot, bumping into the traverses.  She met a ration party, and for the first time in their lives they took refuge over the top, for Ermyntrude was angry.

Ermyntrude reached the end of the trench and somehow got out, heading, by chance, for Germany.  That was her undoing.  In a minute or so three machine-guns began firing, bombs and rifle shots were heard, and Verey lights innumerable flared.  We never saw Ermyntrude again.  But we heard of her—­or rather we read of her—­for the German official report wrote her epitaph, thus:  “Near the village of ——­ hostile raiding detachments were repulsed by our machine-gun fire.”

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[Illustration:  Monica (taken in to see her mother and her new sister, who is fretful—­to nurse).  “Take her away and bring one that doesn’t cry.”]

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Motto for allotment-holders.

“Let us Spray.”

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“We welcome back to a position he once filled so well, the Rev. ——­, who is taking on the pork of the parish for the duration of the war.”—­Bath and Wilts Chronicle.