Well, he actually went to
sleep with his rifle in his hand, having had a dog's life for
two or three nights. But for a mercy, he had pulled down his
panel--didn't know he had!--and the next thing he knew was a
bullet spattering on it--just where his eye should have been.
He was jolly quick in backing out and into a dug-out, and an
hour later he got the man.
'But there was an awful thing here last night. An officer was
directing one of our snipers--stooping down just behind him,
when a Hun got him--right in the eyes. I was down at the
dressing-station visiting one of our men who had been knocked
over--and I saw him led in. He was quite blind,--and as calm as
anything--telling people what to do, and dictating a post card
to the padre, who was much more cut up than he was. I can tell
you, Pamela, our Army is _fine_! Well, thank God, I'm in
it--and not a year too late. That's what I keep saying to
myself. And the great show can't be far off now.
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