She didn’t cook us nothin’ to eat.  “My fingers itch to turn you out beyutiful dishes as your mouths ’ud water to come to a second time,” she said, “but it ‘ud be a crule kindness, knowin’ you’ll be fendin’ for yourselves in a ‘ole in the ground in three weeks’ time.  Better learn ’ow to do it now.  There’s a bit o’ meat, and you can dig up any vegetables you fancy in the garden.  I’ll rake the fire out so as you shall learn ’ow to light a fire for yourselves; and I’ll put the saucepans out of your way; it ain’t likely you’ll ’ave saucepans over there.”

We was never nearer starvin’ than we was at Mrs. Larkins’s.  She said it made her heart bleed to see us, but we should be grateful to ’er one day for teachin’ us ’ow to cook our vittels for ourselves or go without ’em.

One of Jim’s buttons come loose on his tunic and he asked Mrs. Larkins if she would be so kind as to sew it on for him.  “Nothin’ would please me better than to sew ’em all on, they’re mostly ‘angin’ by a thread,” she said; “but do you expect to find a woman in the trenches all ’andy to sew on your buttons?  You’ll ’ave to sew ’em on yourself, and the sooner you learn ’ow to do it the better.”

We was accustomed to ‘ave our washin’ done for us in our other billets, but when the second Sunday come at Mrs. Larkins’s and there wasn’t no sign of a clean shirt we felt obliged to mention it to ’er. “‘Ere’s a bit o’ soap and a bucket,” she said, “and you knows where the well is.”

When we’d washed ’em we was goin’ to ’ang ’em round the fire to dry; but she wouldn’t ’ear of it.  “Where’ll you find a fire to dry ’em by over there?” she said; “you’ll ’ave to wear ’em wet.”  And when we got the rheumatics she said, “Ah, a wet shirt’s sure to do it.  You’ll never be without it over there.  It’s a mercy you’ve got a touch now.  I shouldn’t be sorry if I see you limpin’ a bit more.”

It took us some time in the trenches to get over our ‘ardenin’ at Mrs. Larkins’s.

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“The Ministry therefore appeals to all users and buyers of paper to be content with lower shades of whiteness, and generally to refrain from all demands that would interfere with the desired economy.  All that is asked for is the sacrifice of anaesthetic requirements, in view of national need.”—­East Anglian Daily Times.

If all the Press is to turn Yellow, the prospect is certainly painful and we must insist on an anaesthetic.

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THE BOOMING OF BOOKS.

COMFORT AND JOY’S
New Books for the Million.

ARROLL BAGSBY’S NEW GIGANTIC NOVEL,
THE SAINT WITH THE SWIVEL EYE.
6/-

A deliciously vivid book, about an utterly adorable Countess, her four husbands and her ultimate conversion to Tolstoianism.  Please write for scenario, with Author’s portrait in hygienic costume and sandals.

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