AT THE DAY'S END.

Pahiatua Herald, Volume XXII, Issue 5789, 16 July 1917, Page 3

AT THE DAY'S END.

'Somewhere in France.

/ The Boy lay huddled upon the rough 1 stubble of the cornfield. Daylight was dying and a thick white mist was slowly rising over the lower part ctf the field and gradually spreading itself to the higher ground. He was still partly conscious, and at intervals talked to himself in a hurried undertone. “Wonder what they’re>doing at home now?’’ he muttered. “Having tea, I expect. Dad just come in after a day with the partridges. Hope the mater isn’t giving Bex too much sugar for tea; she always does when I’m away; makes him so beastly fat. . . . These Red Cross chaps seem a long time coming. . . . Wish I hadn’t got such an infernal thirst on. Wilson said it> would be one of the best shooting seasons we have had for years, plentiful.” His voice died away and he was ailent for a little while.

The sound <Jf firing roused him, and he began, again. “I wonder if that’s our chaps peppering away over there. Lord, but it’s awful being out of it He made an attempt to get up, but fell back again with a little groan.

“It’s"* no good. I suppose I will have to stop here till someone comes along.” Another pause. Wish dad could have seen us just now. He always said I was such a rotten shot: said he didn’t, believe I could shoot an eagle sitting! I’ve shot some of the eagle’s brood anyhow,” he chuckled feebly. “Should think I got five or six of the devils before I was bowled over It is one of tire best seasons we’ve had for a long time, Wilson says, birds very plentiful—on, no, I forgot—not partridges —Germans ” The boy’s voice trailed awav.

In the distance could be heard the dull roar of b g guns; nearer at hand, the quick, sharp crack of rifles. The mist was growing denser. “I wonder,” the boy’s voice rambled on, and it sounded weaker and more strained, “I wonder what happened to old Seaton ; he was all right after that first lush. Wish I knew where our chaps are. Gad, how they fought! I hope William remembered 1o oil my bat; I told him I hadn’t time before I came away.''’ It was almost dark now. The mist hung like a thick white blanket over the cornfield, deadening every sound. “Sorry I can't come on, the 29tli, Kitty. A previous engagement a previous engagement-, von know —with the Germans. Rather a good joke that.” he laughed weakly. “Glad the mater can’t see me low. Wonder what she’d think. Slie was always so careful to bandage me up if I on'v got a scratch on my finger. Wonder what she’d think of this. Lord, what a mens! Those chaps don't seem in any hurry to come—it’s getting beastly cold,” artid he shivered. Suddenly the boy roused him self.

“It’s a. good tune,” he said ' l know it's beastly old, but I tell you ■t’s a rattling good tune to march to. It’s—a-—long—long—way—to—•/’ The boy’s voice broke and died away, finishing with a little clinking half sob. M O.