One night a rat bit a
man's nose--but the tale is a long one and I will tell it at some other
time.
We came to the farm forty of us in all, at the heel of a cold March
day. We had marched far in full pack with rifle and bayonet. A
additional load had now been heaped on our shoulders in the shape of
the sheepskin jackets, the uniform of the trenches, indispensable to
the firing line, but the last straw on the backs of overburdened
soldiers. The march to the barn billet was a miracle of endurance, (p. 032)
but all lived it through and thanked Heaven heartily when it was over.
That night we slept in the barn, curled up in the straw, our waterproof
sheets under us and our blankets and sheepskins round our bodies. It
was very comfortable, a night, indeed, when one might wish to remain
awake to feel how very glorious the rest of a weary man can be.
Awaking with dawn was another pleasure; the barn was full of the scent
of corn and hay and of the cow-shed beneath. The hens had already
flown to the yard and the dovecot was voluble. Somewhere near a girl
was milking, and we could hear the lilt of her song as she worked; a
cart rumbled off into the distance, a bell was chiming, and the dogs
of many farms were exchanging greetings. The morning was one to be
remembered.
But mixed with all these medley of sounds came one that was almost new;
we heard it for the first time the day previous and it had been in our
ears ever since; it was with us still and will be for many a day to
come.
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