The lithographed regimental orders for May 31, the Saturday before Whitsuntide, contained the following announcement:

"On June 3, at 6.30 A.M., the regiment will be ready in the Waisenhaus Strasse to march to the practice-camp in the following order: Batteries 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Corps of trumpeters and band.

* * * * * * * * * *

"On no pretext whatever will leave be granted for Whitsuntide. It is to be duly notified to the troops that their Whitsuntide leave--cancelled for official reasons--may be made good, so far as they deserve it, after the gun-practice.... Night-passes may be granted for Whitsun-Day. (Signed) "VON FALKENHEIN, "Colonel and Commandant."

The news that no leave would be granted for Whitsuntide drew deep curses from many of the recruits. They would have liked to go home and exhibit themselves in uniform to their friends and relations. But what was the good of swearing? they had to submit.

The two friends, Vogt and Klitzing, were much upset in their calculations. They had got on so well together that Vogt had asked his father if he might bring his friend home with him. Still, it was only put off; better luck next time! They did not apply for night-leave on the Sunday, as neither of them found any pleasure in spinning round hot dancing-saloons with any women they could pick up. Weise, on the contrary, was quite at home under such circumstances, and had managed to find himself a sweetheart directly permission was granted the recruits to go into the town. It is true she was neither pretty nor particularly youthful; but then she never failed to pay for all his drinks, and when he had promised to marry her she had even bought him new regimentals.

Vogt had taken a favourable opportunity of begging Sergeant Wiegandt to put him and Klitzing together, when, on the completion of their preliminary training, the men were grouped into detachments. Wiegandt had not only acceded to the request, but had taken them both to serve on his own gun, the sixth; Klitzing, with his sharp eyes, as gun-layer, or No. 2; Vogt as No. 1, whose duty it was to fire.

And now they sat, this Whitsun-Tuesday, side by side on the gun-carriage, with the muzzle of the gun between them; and when Wegstetten called out in his clear, strident voice, "Battery, mount!" Vogt whispered gaily across to Klitzing, "Now we're off!" as the long procession of thirty-six guns and six ammunition-waggons began slowly to move.

It was not half bad to be riding along like this. Certainly, the gunners' seats were not provided with cushions, and the guns were not mounted on C-springs; but the shaking and jolting were not very great on the smooth high-road, it was only when the wheels crunched over newly-strewn rubble that their seats vibrated roughly under them.

There had, fortunately, been a heavy thundershower on the previous afternoon, and it had washed the roads clear of dust. Now the sun shone mildly, the air was fresh after the rain; what could be better than to get out into the country on such a day? Vogt and Klitzing rolled along contentedly on their hard-seated chariot, between the white-blossoming cherry-trees which bordered the highway.

Their halting place for the night was a large farm, where were quartered the fifth and sixth guns and the ammunition waggon, one sergeant, one trumpeter, two corporals, twenty-one men, and twenty horses. The farmer's entertainment left nothing to be desired. The litter for the beds was thick and soft; clean sheets were laid over the straw; and there were warm blankets for covering. For supper there were two gigantic hams and many other dainties, a meal for the gods; and the noble peasant had even provided beer and cigars. The second day's march had a no less successful ending. Vogt and Klitzing were quartered together on a cottager, and though the poor fellow did not even own a cow, the older men proved right who had told them that the poor were generally better hosts than the rich.

On the third day the regiment was to arrive at the practice camp. The country now became more level. The black soil gradually lightened in tint; green copses gave place to pine-woods; stretches of barren sandy waste land appeared more and more frequently between the cornfields. At last a flat table-land was reached, bounded in the far distance by an immense forest; and on a still nearer approach isolated white houses could be descried on the forest's edge, while on one side a tall water-tower reared itself high above the level ground.

Captain von Wegstetten ordered his men to halt and dismount. The sixth battery had arrived the first.

Further back along the road just traversed and also on a neighbouring highway the other batteries were seen slowly approaching. At length the commandants of the two divisions arrived with their adjutants, and finally the colonel with his staff. He received the reports of the staff-officers, and then after a short interval placed himself at the head of his regiment.

The long line of men, horses and vehicles, with the band preceding them, then entered the encampment. The sentry at the gate had to present arms so incessantly that he became quite exhausted. A considerable time elapsed before the last officer had passed in.

The guns and carriages were taken to the gun-park. The horses were unharnessed, and the knapsacks unfastened from the guns. Then the drivers made their way to the stables, and the gunners to their barracks. The quartermaster had pointed out his place to every one, so that each man had only to take possession of his cupboard and his bed.

The young soldiers, who had never been in camp before, gazed about with much interest. Things, on the whole, looked very inviting. A wide road with broad footpaths on either side traversed the whole camp, almost further than the eye could see, and along it stood the barracks on the left, and the stables on the right. The houses were all alike; in the middle a square one-storied building, and running out from it a wing containing lofty, airy rooms for the men, open to the wooden rafters that supported the slated roof. At the back were covered verandas, in which, during bad weather, instruction could be carried on and the roll called. Beyond these outbuildings began the outskirts of the wood, beautiful stately pines growing thick and close. The resinous scent of pine-needles was wafted into the rooms through the open windows.

"Heinrich," said Vogt to Klitzing, "this is just like a summer holiday for us, isn't it? Isn't this air splendid?"

The clerk stopped his unpacking for a moment and drew in a deep breath of the invigorating odour.

"Oh yes," he answered; "we can do with this all right!"

However, it was not a "summer holiday" by any means, and the two friends found that out soon enough. There was a lot of real hard work to do during these weeks; but it was all done with a good will. Actual gun-practice was a very different thing from that dull work in garrison with blank cartridges.

The magazine where the ammunition was stored lay at some little distance from the other buildings, near the gun-park, and was surrounded by a thick high wall of earth. One realised from this how dangerous were its contents. But the store-men, who gave out the shrapnel-shells and the fuses, went about their work as if regardless of the fact that in each one of these lurked death and destruction. And yet in every shrapnel-shell were a couple of hundred bullets that could easily put a whole company hors de combat.

The beginning of the gun-practice did not, however, seem likely to be very dangerous. Only twenty-four shrapnel, i.e., six shots for each gun, were given out next morning. It was a first experience, meant especially for the younger officers, and Lieutenant Landsberg was to command the battery.

The men were very curious to know what he would make of it. The affected young dandy was extremely unpopular with every one. Besides which, he was clearly not blessed with much intelligence; for at garrison-drill more reproofs and reprimands were showered upon him alone than upon all the rest of the battery put together. Again and again would Wegstetten's trumpet-tones ring across the parade-ground: "Lieutenant Landsberg, you are not in your right place!" "Lieutenant Landsberg, you are allowing too much distance!" The little captain had sworn many a fierce oath as he galloped to and fro on his long-legged "WalkÜre": "Lieutenant Landsberg! attention, please. What in thunder are you about?" or "Good God, sir! don't go to sleep! Time's getting on!"

And to-day he was to command the whole battery. Wegstetten took the precaution of accompanying the young man himself, so that he might be able to come to the rescue in case of necessity.

He was soon needed. The battery started from the gun-park and left the camp, turning off the road and crossing the heather towards the broad level stretch of the exercise-ground.

Suddenly Landsberg's snapping voice crowed out: "Battery, halt!" and immediately afterwards: "Open with shrapnel!"

The men grinned at one another.

Two or three of the gunners got down and stood there, quite at a loss. They ought to load; yet the word of command, "Prepare for action!" had not been given. And how could they load when the seats and the limber-boxes were still locked, and when the gun was still covered?

The clever lieutenant had forgotten the word of command that should properly have been given before leaving the gun-park. And the best of it was that he didn't even now notice what was wrong.

Wegstetten, close at hand, kept quite still. He had taken his feet out of the stirrups and was swinging his short legs carelessly to and fro. His eyes flashed scorn as he looked at the hapless lieutenant.

"Well, Lieutenant Landsberg," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "if I were one of the men myself I shouldn't know what to do either."

The lieutenant raised his spotlessly gloved hand to his helmet and replied, "Yes, sir." But as yet no solution of the riddle had dawned on him.

Then at last the captain sat upright in his saddle, and his clear voice rang out over the battery: "Prepare for action!"

It put life into the men at once, and all set about their various duties with the utmost zeal.

Wegstetten turned to the subaltern, who stood stupidly looking on, and said, "Well, Lieutenant Landsberg, you may take over the command again now."

Truchsess, the brewer, as No. 4 of gun six, brought out the shrapnel very gingerly. How easily such stuff as that might go off!

The old hands had gruesome tales to tell of accidents that had happened during gun-practice. Once while being loaded, a gun had prematurely exploded backwards, making a great hole through gunner No. 3, right through his chest, a hole just the same size as the bore of the gun. As the corpse was being carried away afterwards the sun shone right through it; so that in the middle of the shadow cast by the body was a bright round spot exactly the same size and shape as the bore of a gun.

The brewer could not help thinking of this as he very cautiously pushed the shrapnel into the bore. Klitzing, however, shoved it vigorously with the rammer, so that its metal casing clinked against the inside of the gun.

"Now then, old fellow, easy on! The thing might go off!" whispered Truchsess.

But Klitzing only smiled, and the brewer sullenly thought to himself, "Well, if that clerk has no use for his life, I have for mine, anyhow!"

Carefully he pushed in the cartridge, and heaved a sigh of relief as the lock slipped back once more. At any rate, it couldn't explode at the back now and hit him.

The battery now started again and went on at an easy trot to the exercise-ground. In the midst of a luxuriant growth of heather they unlimbered. It was a wonderful picture, the guns and the scattered gunners on that peaceful sea of purple. The waves of blossom reached nearly to the axles of the blue wheels and above the knees of the men, and closed over the trail of the gun-carriage as it passed. The men had to make their way through the heather almost as if it had been a wood.

"Open with shrapnel! Straight in front! At the battery before the guide-post at the edge of the wood. Third gun! Two thousand eight hundred!" commanded Lieutenant Landsberg. "Fire from left flank! Fire from left flank!"--that meant that gun six should begin; that of the whole regiment it was to have the honour of firing the first shot in this year's practice.

Klitzing, as gun-layer, set the sight in a twinkling to 2800 yards, got astride the box, and laid the gun in the right direction.

The enemy's battery was not very hard to find. The young officer had not been given too difficult a task. Far away over the heath, where the sand gleamed yellow in the distance, six dark, rather broad patches showed up against the light ground, each surrounded by smaller objects. They were the six guns that were to be attacked, with the dummy men belonging to them. It was Sergeant Wiegandt's duty to verify the aim; he gave a satisfied nod, and then the word of command, "Gun six, fire!"

Upon which the men sprang out of the way of the backward recoil of the carriage, and Vogt, with a jerk of the body, pulled the lanyard and fired.

There was a loud report, and the gun rolled heavily back quite eight paces. In another moment it was moved into its original place again.

After a few seconds, far away on the heath, a light cloud of dust rose into the air, as if a giant's hand had stirred up the sand, and immediately afterwards--almost at the same moment--all the dark patches disappeared in a dense grey cloud of smoke. When this had cleared away, the dummies on the left of the gun had vanished, and the gun itself appeared to have been damaged, as it was leaning over on one side.

The first shot had hit the mark full. This simply showed that excellent aim had been taken. The actual distance had corresponded exactly with the calculation. Still, it caused great satisfaction.

Colonel von Falkenhein, on his big chestnut, was stationed near by. He had been watching the target through his field-glasses, and a scarcely audible exclamation had escaped him as he saw the splinters flying about through the smoke.

Turning to the battery he called out a short "Bravo, gun-layer!"

Wegstetten, who had dismounted near him, smiled. Well, at any rate, battery six was all right, even when commanded by a noodle!

The shooting went on steadily. Now the distance had been ascertained the shrapnels were fired off by means of time-fuses; and they exploded regularly each time over the mark, the little clouds of smoke showing up picturesquely against the dark background of the wood. Over there it was as if heavy raindrops were falling on a dusty road; everywhere little columns of sand were spurting up into the air.

After the first shot the men lost all nervousness. Even Truchsess took hold of the shells quite courageously; and when the twenty-four that had been served out to them were used up, the men would willingly have gone on longer.

In the criticism of the result Landsberg came out well. He had had four good hits from one shrapnel--a very fair result; mainly due, of course, to the luck of the first shot, which by itself would have placed all the men belonging to one of the enemy's guns hors de combat.

The lieutenant's face took on a self-satisfied expression, which seemed to say: "Of course from me nothing less could have been expected."

Falkenhein, who always kept a watchful eye on each one of his officers, and who up to that moment had not heard much in favour of this young man, thought it best to take down his pride a little.

"You know, Lieutenant Landsberg," he said, "your commanding officer made things very easy for you. As the youngest officer in the regiment you had the lightest task. Remember that in taking credit to yourself; and let me tell you that they won't build such barn-doors for you to aim at next year!"

Upon which he turned pleasantly to Wegstetten and asked: "Did you ride over and see that target, my dear Wegstetten?--I mean the one that was hit full?"

"Yes, sir; the shrapnel must have exploded almost inside the gun."

"I thought so. Capital thing, the very first shot of the year being such a good one. No one like you for that, Wegstetten!"

The captain smiled, much gratified, and modestly answered, "A bit of good luck, sir!"

But the colonel continued, more seriously: "Well, partly luck, perhaps. Just one thing more, my dear Wegstetten. That gun-layer who made the lucky shot--has he been ill? He looked pretty bad to me--like a perfect death's-head."

Wegstetten gave as many particulars about the man as he himself knew, and Reimers added some information, Landsberg meanwhile standing by in silence.

"It is really you, Lieutenant Landsberg, who ought to be telling me all this," said Falkenhein with some warmth. "You trained the recruits, and therefore ought to know all about them." Then, turning to Wegstetten: "If the man is as capable as I hear," he continued, "you might manage to make things a bit easier for him."

"Yes, sir," the captain hastened to reply. "I had been thinking of employing him in the autumn as assistant clerk."

This was not true. To think of such details so long beforehand was impossible, even for the commander of the most efficient battery in the whole army-corps. But it served its purpose. Falkenhein nodded pleasantly: "Quite right, my dear Wegstetten. You have hit the bull's-eye again! You see one can never deal with men all in a lump; you must take them separately. Some best serve the king with their sturdy arms and legs, but your gun-layer with his eyes and pen." He then raised his hand to his helmet, and the two men parted.

As they all repaired to their respective quarters they had very different thoughts in their minds. Reimers was full of admiration: "What a man is that," thought he, "who, with all his heavy duties, yet occupies himself with the insignificant destiny of a poor devil of a gunner!"

Wegstetten's face wore a rather self-satisfied smile. "One must speak up for oneself, and not hide one's light under a bushel! Better say too much than too little. In doing one's superior officer a small service, one may be doing the greatest of all to oneself."

Landsberg said to himself, with a sneer: "The man prates about that whipper-snapper of a gunner nearly as much as about my splendid firing. And so that's the celebrated Colonel von Falkenhein!"

Next day almost all the men would have liked to go on with the shell-firing; but the subsequent cleaning of the guns was not at all to their taste. The smokeless powder left in the bore of the gun a horrid, sticky slime that must not be allowed to remain there. This meant sousing with clean water again and again, washing out with soft soap, and then going on pumping and working with the mop until the water came out again as clean as it had gone in.

"Now, boys," Sergeant Wiegandt used to say, "if you don't feel inclined to drink the water as it comes out of the gun, then that means it isn't clean enough yet. So go ahead!"

And then the drying afterwards! They had to wrap rags and cloths round the mop until it was so thick that it would scarcely go through the muzzle of the gun. If this were not done the inside edges and corners remained wet; and one spot of rust on the bright metal--well! that would be almost as bad as murder! So they had to push and to twist, to pull and to drag, till the perspiration streamed from their foreheads. Finally the barrel was thinly oiled; and the next day the firing took place once more, and then there was the drudgery of the cleaning all over again.

Yet the men endured these exertions far better than the garrison life. This was partly owing to the variety of the work; but, above all, the greatest torment of a soldier's life had been left behind,--that monotonous drilling under which all groaned, and the object of which no one could ever pretend to understand. Even the dullest--to say nothing of Vogt with his simple, sound common-sense--could see that the gun-practice here in the practice-camp was the most important part of the whole training. What the men had already learnt was now found out practically. But where did the parade-marching and all the other display drill come in?

Here was Klitzing, who in the garrison had been looked on as the most feeble soldier of the lot, now all at once distinguishing himself! Vogt shook his head as he thought it over.

He often felt glad that at any rate he was an artilleryman, for others had a much worse time of it. A few days earlier an infantry regiment had moved into the neighbouring barracks; and looking through the palings of their parade-ground they could see the battalions exercising.

There was a yellow, dried-up looking major who was never, never satisfied. He would keep his battalion at it in the sun till past noon; and then after a short pause for refreshment the same cruel business would begin all over again. The devil! How could a couple of hundred men be as symmetrical as a machine?

The artillery-drivers had climbed on to the fence. They were polishing their curbs and chains, and laughed at the spectacle before them. But to Vogt it did not seem amusing. What was the use of making those two hundred men do such childish things there on the parade-ground? Would they ever march into battle like that? He thought of how those dummies had all been riddled by the bullets when a single shrapnel burst in front of them. Why, it would be sheer madness! They would have to crawl, to run, to jump--then to crawl again! That wasn't what they were doing when every morning on the parade-ground one heard a continual tack--tack--tack--tack, as if a thousand telegraph clerks were hard at work. What was the good of all this senseless show, which only aggravated the men?

Their comrades of the infantry looked very far from cheerful, and darted glances full of suppressed hatred at the yellow-faced major. And when, dead-tired, they had finished the drill, and were putting away their guns in the corner, they would curse the very uniform they wore as if it had been a strait-waistcoat.

Certainly it was not necessary to agree in everything with a social-democrat like Weise; but there was no doubt what-ever that he was perfectly right about some things. In the evenings, when the non-commissioned officers were sitting in the canteen, the men took their stools out on the open veranda that looked over the forest; and then Weise would begin to hold forth, his comrades, either smoking or cleaning their clothes and accoutrements, grouped round him listening to his orations. When some of the men, fresh from the country, complained of the hard work there, the endless long hours, and the small pay, he laughed outright.

"Why do you allow your landed-proprietors to treat you so?" he scoffed. "Why are you so stupid? Of course if you won't utter a word of protest you don't deserve anything better."

And he explained how things were managed in his trade, at the factory. If one of the workmen was unfairly treated, or if the pay was considered too small, then they had a thorough good strike. They took care to choose the best possible time for it, when the manufacturers had the most pressing work to do. The trade-union, to which of course they all had to belong, kept blacklegs at a distance, and they went on doggedly righting until new terms had been won. Certainly the workmen did not invariably carry all their demands; but a strike seldom ended without their gaining some solid advantage. Yes, the workers had only to show the world that they were a power; that they were not going to be trampled on for ever; that they intended henceforth to have their share of the profits which they had hitherto been putting into the pockets of the rich, although earned by their own toil and sweat.

Or Weise would reckon how much was spent in one day's gun-practice. Each shot cost about fifteen marks; and the sixth battery alone had fired about a hundred and twenty shots that morning. There were six batteries in each regiment, four regiments in each army-corps, and twenty-three army-corps in the whole of Germany.

"Any-one who likes can reckon it up," said Weise. "In any case the money would be enough to give every poor devil in the whole world one happy day!"

He pulled out a sheet of paper and read from it the sum that Germany spent annually on her army. It made the men open their eyes pretty wide. An incredible sum, truly, of which they could form no clear idea at all.

Sometimes one of them would say! "But look here, old man; suppose there was war, and we had no soldiers?"

"War! war!" said Weise. "What is war, pray? Who is it that makes war? Do you want war? Do you want to have to go and stand up like those targets out there and be hit on the skull or in the belly by the shrapnel?"

"Not I."

"Perhaps you would, Findeisen?"

"I? God damn me--no!"

"Or you, Truchsess?"

The brewer thought a moment, and answered:

"No, certainly not. I wish for peace. But the French might want to fight us, or the Russians."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Weise. "Well, now, think about it a moment. Over there in France are sitting together just such poor simple fellows as we are here. Ask them if they want to let themselves be shot dead in a moment without rhyme or reason? Do you expect them to say yes?"

"No, of course not. But--but--then who is it who really does want war?"

Weise did not speak for a moment, but laughed softly. Then he answered, shrugging his shoulders: "Ah, that I don't know. Probably nobody. So much only is clear: we don't want it."

During these conversations, Wolf, the lean gunner of the "old gang," was always careful to hold aloof. He listened to the talk, but never joined in it. When his comrades had gone in to bed, he would stay on, gazing out into the beautiful night of the woods. No one longed as fervently as he did for the end of the term of service. He, who had been wont to grudge every day on which he had done nothing to further the cause of revolution and social-democracy, was forbidden for two long years to allow a word to pass his lips about what lay nearest his heart! Yet he was all the more cautious not to commit any indiscretions that might perhaps entail a prolongation of the hateful restraint.

Hitherto he had had but a vague comprehension of the idea of freedom; now he felt that he grasped it. Freedom! It meant the time after his discharge--the time when he would no longer wear the soldier's uniform! When, during these weeks, Wolf had been an auditor of Weise's covertly inflammatory speeches, he had longed each time to step forward and speak out too. He knew that his own words would have flowed far more convincingly and more passionately than Weise's. But he knew also that in such case he would only have the greater difficulty in restraining himself afterwards; so he kept silence.

However, the end was attained without his help. It was quite remarkable how after such conversations these peasant lads and the others, who up to now had heard nothing of socialism and labour movements, rapidly assimilated the new and palatable wisdom, although no word of direct propaganda had been spoken. And if this result was so marked in their own corps, where the work was not very irksome or heavy, what must it not be among the infantry over yonder, where any small spark of liking for the soldier's life must be quenched by the deadly monotony of eternal parade-drill!

Not long before, a man had suddenly gone mad in the middle of drill. What was responsible for this calamity? The sun, over-exertion, perhaps an inherited tendency that would in any case sooner or later have resulted in such a catastrophe? No one could say with any certainty. But the men who had seen and heard how the poor fellow writhed and shrieked, gripped their rifles tightly, and the same thought could plainly be read in the eyes of them all.

No wonder that the period of military service was extremely favourable to the spread of social-democracy! Such sensational object-lessons were not necessary; the circumstances of every-day life all pointed towards socialism.

Wolf understood the part that Weise played in the battery. It was always the same. Each batch of recruits was a mixture of men from towns and men from the country. The city-bred, even if fewer in number, immediately established an ascendancy over the country yokels. They were quicker-witted, and their town bringing-up had developed their intelligence more. And just because of this they adapted themselves more easily to the requirements of military service, so that they often made better soldiers than the country recruits with their slower comprehension. Most of them were entirely unaware that they were socialistic agitators; they quite unconsciously imparted to their fellow-soldiers ideas that to them appeared self-evident, but that for the others meant an upheaval of their whole way of thinking.

What was the use of searching every hole and corner of the barracks at regular intervals for socialistic literature? They could confiscate red rosettes and pamphlets; but how could they control transient, intangible thoughts?

On Sundays the camp was as quiet as it was full of life on week-days. The boundary-lines beyond which the men were not allowed to pass without leave, were drawn round a considerable area. Within it were three large villages; and on Sundays their taverns were thronged by soldiers quartered in the camp. The enterprising innkeepers had made ample provision for such crowds of visitors. They had erected wooden platforms in the open air where dancing went on without intermission, regimental bands supplying the music; and the amount of beer consumed in one Sunday was greater than that drunk by the entire village the whole winter through. Of course there were strong patrols set to keep order at the dancing-platforms and licensed houses. As there were too few partners for the soldiers quarrels were of constant occurrence, and were seldom amicably settled; a brawl was the usual result, and at times a regular fight.

It was the custom in these villages to hire maidservants only by the month, as sufficient work could hardly be found for them during the winter; and there were also other members of the female sex--not servants, but ladies who had taken up their summer quarters here. They were the cause of much perplexity to the officers in command of the troops. The soldiers would stand in queues at the doors of these summer residences, like people at a baker's shop in time of famine; and then if any of them were drunk and got a little impatient there was sure to be a row. Censorious tongues passed severe comments on such proceedings. The commanding officers were most anxious to rectify the evil; but they could hardly post sentries at those particular houses, and finally they got over the difficulty by bringing a little moral pressure to bear upon the local authorities. These worthy civilians achieved the desired end by the simple means of administrative expulsions.

As the two comrades were getting ready to go out, Vogt asked the clerk: "Well, Heinrich, what shall we do with ourselves? Shall we go along and drink a glass of beer and look on at the racket for a bit?"

"If you like, Franz," replied Klitzing.

"Then we won't," said Vogt. "You ought to say at once when you don't like a thing. I don't in the least want to go myself, and we can always get beer in the canteen. We'll just walk a bit through the wood as far as the butts, shall we?"

Klitzing assented, and they waited till their comrades were off, then strolled slowly into the cool forest. Troops of men were leaving the camp gates to walk by the hard high road towards the villages that could be seen in the distance. Vogt looked after the cloud of dust they made.

"Can you understand what they see in women?" he asked.

"No, indeed I can't."

"You don't care about women?"

The clerk shook his head. "And you, Franz?" he inquired.

"Not I. At any rate, not yet."

Walking on in the shade of the forest's edge they came at last to the butts. The black, tarred, wooden target had been put up ready for the next day, and cheerfully awaited the terrors of the firing that lay before it. A little to one side of the principal erection a ruined village stood out against the blue of the summer sky. It had been purchased by the Government and left standing to be used for testing the effect of shots upon buildings.

The shells had certainly done their work. Substantial walls had gaping fissures right through them; gables and chimney-stacks had been laid low. Some of the houses seemed to have been set on fire by the shots, and any wood-work spared by the devouring flames had been stolen and carried away by some-one or other. No stairs were left leading to the upper storeys, nor boards to any of the floors. Rafters and beams had been hewn down; doors and windows with their frames had been torn out. On some of the walls rude drawings had been scrawled in paint or red chalk, with facetious inscriptions and obscene jokes; but from most of them the whitewash had fallen, leaving bare the rough masonry. It was a depressing picture of desolation. One could almost imagine that the smell of burning still hung about.

Vogt gazed gloomily at the ruins and said: "And that's what things look like in war! By God, it's true! we must do away with war!"

Klitzing smiled quietly to himself: "Yes, but who'll be the first to begin?" he asked.

The regiment stayed fully three weeks at the practice-camp, and then accomplished the return journey to the garrison in three days.

The two friends were anxiously looking forward to the leave that had been promised the men after the gun-practice. They were to start on the first Saturday in July, and had eight days' leave granted to them. Only very few had been allowed as much, and their captain did not fail to point out in a little speech that this favour was due to their blameless conduct at the practice-camp.

It was one of Wegstetten's little methods, when he found good qualities in his men and wished to spur them on, to make the meagre rewards that the service held out to them appear in a specially brilliant light. Regardless of exaggeration, he spoke of that week's leave as if it were an extremely rare mark of distinction unheard of for years. And on the whole he gained his object. As Vogt and Klitzing stood before their commanding officer blushing with pride, they had the feeling that they must thank him, and promise to go on doing their duty. They only did not know how. At length Vogt plucked up courage and stammered a few words.

Captain von Wegstetten listened kindly. He had soon perceived that he had to do with two worthy, honest lads; and, with his own ends in view, he proceeded to inquire in a condescending way about their homes. When it then came out that the one had invited the other to stay with him, he praised them for their faithful comrade-ship, and took the first opportunity of relating this instance of the fraternising of town and country to the colonel, who liked such proofs of an individual interest being taken in the soldiers.

The first Saturday in July was a day of excitement for the turnpike-keeper, Friedrich August Vogt. He was rather annoyed with himself for losing his usual calm. Why? because his son--his only son--was coming home for the first time? Really, that was not such an event as to put him beside himself in this way! And then next he blamed himself for having thought it unbefitting an old soldier, and too soft-hearted altogether, to go and fetch his son from the station. He could not remain in the house, so he went to a spot on the highway whence he could watch the railway. He could see the train coming in, and the clouds of white smoke from the engine rising up from behind the station; then he heard the whistle--but still nothing was to be seen of the two holiday-makers. Could Franz be stopping to have a glass of beer? No; now the two men could be seen emerging from the village on to the broad high-road, their helmets and uniform buttons glistening in the sun--it must be they! The turnpike-keeper drew back a little, so that he was out of sight. Why should the boy know that he had been staring the eyes out of his head in order to catch the first glimpse of him?

When Vogt and Klitzing arrived at the house he looked out of the window as if quite by chance. "Ah, here you are!" and with a hearty grip of the hand he bade them both welcome.

But it was no use fighting against it, he could not take his eyes off his son. What a well set-up, vigorous young fellow his Franz had grown! Yet he was still the same good honest lad; that was written in his face.

And Franz's friend, with his frank open countenance, inspired confidence at once. He looked, to be sure, as if he had never in his life had enough to eat. He must be properly fed up for once. While he was on leave, at any rate, he should not want for anything.

The two gunners settled down very quickly, and nothing could prevent Franz from going round the fields the very first evening while his father milked and fed the cows. He had almost hoped to find something or other left neglected because he had not been there when it was put in hand. But no, his father had allowed nothing to go wrong anywhere.

And now in the company of the two young soldiers the old turnpike-keeper became quite a different creature. He realised suddenly that the quiet, sluggish peasant's blood had not quite replaced in him the old, quick-flowing blood of the soldier. He listened, fascinated, to the tales told by the two gunners about their soldier's life. How things had changed since his time! He could never hear enough about it all.

Then Franz came to tell of his reflections during the gun-practice: how through the fence he had seen the infantry battalion tormented with drill for hours at a time; how the dried-up looking major had foamed with fury; and how the poor devil of a private had been struck down bodily and mentally in the middle of it all.

Old Vogt quietly heard his son out, although he was burning to speak. Then he began: "Look here, youngster, you as a simple soldier can't understand it all. But depend upon it, this drill is the most important thing that every soldier must first be made to learn. For it alone teaches military obedience, soldierly subordination, discipline. It alone can give that unity which preserves a company from utter demoralisation if one of your horrible new-fangled shrapnel bursts among them. But for drill the cowards would turn tail without further ceremony, and take to their heels; and in the end even the brave ones would follow them. It is the drill that teaches them to stay on and stick together."

He held to it, in spite of all his son could say about what he had seen of the kind of drill that the troops were kept at.

"You could not have seen aright," said his father.

The elder Vogt would not allow his son to put his hand to anything in the afternoons. He always insisted on sending the two young fellows out by themselves.

"Be off with you, youngsters," he would say. "Take a walk, drink a glass of beer somewhere or other--whatever you like. Enjoy your few days of freedom!"

Then the two young men would march off and let the hot sun and the fresh air burn them and brown them. Vogt had shown his friend his favourite spot, whence they could look out over the river to the castle in the neighbouring town. There they lay in the grass.

The peasant felt impelled to get up every now and then. He was restless; he felt that he must keep looking at the fields that lay around them. But the clerk lay quite still in the short grass, and with blinking half-closed eyes gazed up into the summer sky.