AT THE DAY'S END.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 288, 29 June 1917, Page 3 (Supplement)

AT THE DAY'S END.

A BOY'S LAST DREAMS AFTER THE BATTLE. Somewhere in Fr.v.uo. The K.y lay huddled up ci: the rough stubble of the cornfield. Daylight was dying and a thick white mist was slowly rising over the lower part of the field and gradually spreading itself to the higher ground. He was still partly conscious, an J at intervals talked to himself in a hurried undertone. "Wonder what they're dcing at home now?" he. mattered. "Having tea, I expect. Dad just come in after a day with the partridges. Hope the mater isn't giving Rex 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 fcr years, birds so plentiful." His voice died .away and he was silent for a little while. The sound of 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 cf it!" He made an attempt to get up. but fell back again with a little groan. THE FINAL FIGHT. "It's no good. I suppose I will have to stop here till someone comes along." Another pause Wish clad cculd nave 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 anyhew." he chuckled feebly.

"Should think I get five or six of the devils before I was bowled over. . . It's one of the best seasons we've had for a long time, Wilson says, birds very plentiful—oh, no I forgot—not partridges—Germans ——"' The boy's voice trailed away.

In the distance could be heard the dull roar of big 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 and dry, "I wonder what happened to old Seaton; he ■as all right after that first rush. Wish I knew where our chaps are. Gad, hew they fought! I hope William remembered to oil my bat; I told him I 1 hadn't time beflcre I came away." It was almost dark now. The mist hung like a thick white blanket over the cornfield, (leadening every r< und. "Sorry I can't come on the 29th, Kitty. A previous engagement, a previous engagement, you know—with the Germans. Rather a good joke that," he laughed weakly. "Glad the mater can't see me now. Wcnder what she'd think. She was always so careful to bandage me up if I only get a scratch on my linger. Wcnder what she'd think of this. Lord, what a mess! Those chaps don't seem in any hurry to come—it's getting beastly cold," and he shivered.

Suddenly the bey roused himself. "It's a good tune," he said. "I know it's beastly old, but I tell you it's a rattling good tune to march to. It's—a—long—long way— fo —f* The boy's voice brcke and died away, finishing with a little choking half sob. M. 0.

butter, the -size of butternuts, in flour, put them in the stew, and let it come to the boil; then season with pepper and suit. Take out the oysters and chop them, putting them back into the pot, and, if the sa,uce is not quite thickenough, add a little flour. Beat four eggs very lightly, and add two tablespoonfuls of milk (more, if required), and fry this in a well-buttered frying pan. When done, remove the omelet to a hot platter, pour the oyster sauce over it, and serve very hot. Nciw that oysters r.re in season, thi ■ is a recipe worth noting.

A THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK. Life's evening, we may rest assured, will take its' character from the day which has preceded it.—Shuttlewortii.