During the night there had been periods of quiescence, devoted to consolidation, and here and there to snatches of uneasy slumber.  Angus M’Lachlan, fairly in his element, had trailed his enormous length in and out of the back-yards and brick-heaps of the village, visiting every point in his irregular line, testing defences; bestowing praise; and ensuring that every man had his share of food and rest.  Unutterably grimy but inexpressibly cheerful, he reported progress to Major Wagstaffe when that nocturnal rambler visited him in the small hours.

“Well, Angus, how goes it?” inquired Wagstaffe.

“We have won the match, sir,” replied Angus with simple seriousness.  “We are just playing the bye now!”

And with that he crawled away, with the unnecessary stealth of a small boy playing robbers, to encourage his dour paladins to further efforts.

“We shall probably be relieved this evening,” he explained to them, “and we must make everything secure.  It would never do to leave our new positions untenable by other troops.  They might not be so reliable”—­with a paternal smile—­“as you!  Now, our right flank is not safe yet.  We can improve the position very much if we can secure that estaminet, standing up like an island among those ruined houses on our right front.  You see the sign, Aux Bons Fermiers, over the door.  The trouble is that a German machine-gun is sweeping the intervening space—­and we cannot see the gun!  There it goes again.  See the brick-dust fly!  Keep down!  They are firing mainly across our front, but a stray bullet may come this way.”

The platoon crouched low behind their improvised rampart of brick rubble, while machine-gun bullets swept low, with misleading claquement, along the space in front of them, from some hidden position on their right.  Presently the firing stopped.  Brother Boche was merely “loosing off a belt,” as a precautionary measure, at commendably regular intervals.

“I cannot locate that gun,” said Angus impatiently.  “Can you, Corporal M’Snape?”

“It is not in the estamint itself, sirr,” replied M’Snape. ("Estamint” is as near as our rank and file ever get to estaminet.) “It seems to be mounted some place higher up the street.  I doubt they cannot see us themselves—­only the ground in front of us.”

“If we could reach the estaminet itself,” said Angus thoughtfully, “we could get a more extended view.  Sergeant Mucklewame, select ten men, including three bombers, and follow me.  I am going to find a jumping-off place.  The Lewis gun too.”

Presently the little party were crouching round their officer in a sheltered position on the right of the line—­which for the moment appeared to be “in the air.”  Except for the intermittent streams of machine-gun fire, and an occasional shrapnel-burst overhead, all was quiet.  The enemy’s counter-attack was not yet ready.