In this respect he offers a curious contrast to the Sapper.  Off duty, the Sapper is the most unobtrusive of men—­a cave-man, in fact.  He burrows deep into the earth, or the side of a hill, and having secured the roof of this cavern against direct hits by ingenious contrivances of his own manufacture, constructs a suite of furniture of a solid and enduring pattern, and lives the life of a comfortable recluse.  But when engaged in the pursuit of his calling, the Sapper is the least retiring of men.  The immemorial tradition of the great Corps to which he belongs has ordained that no fire, however fierce, must be allowed to interfere with a Sapper in the execution of his duty.  This rule is usually interpreted by the Sapper to mean that you must not perform your allotted task under cover when it is possible to do so under fire.  To this is added, as a rider, that in the absence of an adequate supply of fire, you must draw fire.  So the Sapper walks cheerfully about on the tops of parapets, hugging large and conspicuous pieces of timber, or clashing together sheets of corrugated iron, as happy as a king.

“You will find this house quite snug,” continued the Brigadier.  “The eastern suite is to be avoided, because there is no roof there; and if it rains outside for a day, it rains in the best bedroom for a week.  There is a big kitchen in the basement, with a capital range.  That’s all, I think.  The chief thing to avoid is movement of any kind.  The leaves are coming off the trees now—­”

At this moment an orderly entered the room with a pink telegraph message.

“Relief complete, sir!” announced the Brigade Major, reading it.

“Good work!” replied both Brigadiers, looking at their watches simultaneously, “considering the state of the country.”  The Brigadier of “A” rose to his feet.

“Now we can pass along quietly,” he said.  “Good luck to you.  By the way, take care of Edgar, won’t you?  Any little attention which you can show him will be greatly appreciated.”

“Who is Edgar?”

“Oh, I thought the Staff Captain would have told you.  Edgar is the swan—­the last of his race, I’m afraid, so far as this place is concerned.  He lives on the lake, and usually comes ashore to draw his rations about lunch-time.  He is inclined to be stand-offish on one side, as he has only one eye; but he is most affable on the other.  Well, now to find our horses!”

As the three officers departed down the backdoor steps, a hesitating voice followed them—­“H’m!  Is there any place where one can go—­a cellar, or any old spot of that kind—­just in case we are—­”

“Bless you, you’ll be all right!” was the cheery reply. (The outgoing Brigade is always excessively cheery.) “But there are dug-outs over there—­in the garden.  They haven’t been occupied for some months, so you may find them a bit ratty.  You won’t require them, though.  Good-night!”

III