As I came out on to the convalescents' verandah my brother James looked
up from his paper.
"Did I ever tell you about a certain Private Parks?" he asked. "He was
with me in Flanders in the early days. He came out with a draft and
lasted about two months. Rather a curious type. Very superstitious. If a
shell narrowly missed him he must have a small piece to put in his
pocket. If while standing on a duck-board he happened to be immune while
his pals were being knocked out he would carry it about with him all day
if possible. On one occasion he was very nearly shot for
insubordination, because he would go out into No-man's-land after a
flower which he thought would help him.
"Not that his superstition was purely selfish. Once, when he had had two
particularly close shaves during the day, he insisted upon sleeping
outside the barn where we were billeted. 'I'm absolutely certain to have
a third close shave,' he said, 'and if I'm in the billet someone will
get it.'
"The Corporal let him lie down in the farmyard, but a little later he
crept up the road about fifty yards to make things more certain."
"And I suppose the barn was hit and he escaped?" I put in, feeling that
I had heard this story before.
"You don't know Private Parks," said James. "About two o'clock in the
morning a shell fell on the road not ten yards from him. Bits of it must
have made a pattern all round him, but not one hit him, and when he'd
picked himself out of the ditch he went back to the billet, knowing all
was then safe.
"Then one day when we were in the front line there came up with the mail
a parcel for Private Parks. I was near when he opened it. When he saw
the contents he gave a sigh and a curious resigned expression came over
his face.
"'What's she sent you?' I asked.
"'It's from my old aunt, Sir,' he said. 'It's a stocking.' 'Only one?'
'Yes,' he said with great solemnity. 'The other one's been pinched?' I
asked. 'No, Sir. The parcel's not been opened. It simply means that I
shall lose a leg to-day,' he added. He wasn't panicked at all. But, as
to reassuring him, I might as well have argued with a tank.
"We'd had a very quiet time, but that evening the Hun put over a pretty
stiff bombardment. We stood to, but we all thought it was only a little
extra evening hate, except Private Parks. He kept saying, 'They're
coming across,' till we told him not to get the wind up. But he hadn't
got the wind up. Only he knew they were coming.
"And they did come. Just after it was dark they made a biggish raid and
got into our front trench a little to our right. We started bombing
inwards, but the slope of the ground was awkward, and they seemed to be
having the best of the fun.
"Then Parks jumped up on to the parapet with a pail of bombs and ran
along. He fairly got among them, and by the time he was hit in the right
leg they were mostly casualties or prisoners. I saw him on the stretcher
going back. He was in some pain, but he smiled, and said, 'One stocking
will be enough now, Sir.'"
"Very extraordinary," I began, but James stopped me.
"I haven't finished," he said. "When about three months later I went
down to Southmouth Convalescent Camp, almost the first man I saw was
Private Parks. He was still on crutches, but _he had two legs_. I
greeted him, and then I couldn't resist saying, 'What about the
stocking?'
"'I'll tell you, Sir,' he said. 'For a week after I was wounded it was a
toss up whether they took the leg off or not. Then a parcel arrived for
me. It was the other stocking. My aunt had discovered that she had left
it out. That evening the surgeon decided that they need not amputate. I
knew they wouldn't, of course, as soon as I received the parcel.'"
James had really finished this time, and after a moment's reflection I
said, "I wonder if that's true."
"Do you flatter me?" he asked.
"I don't know about that. Not with intent," I said, "though it would
really be more to your credit if you'd made it up."
"As a matter of fact," said James, "I did make it up. It was suggested
to me by the heading to a letter in this paper--'The Stocking of Private
Parks,' though that appears to be upon quite a different subject.
Something agricultural, I gather."
* * * * *
"By a comparison of the wet and dry bulb registrations the dew
point and the humility of the atmosphere is determined."
_Banbury Guardian_.
In the first week of August, at any rate, the atmosphere had no reason
to swank.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE INTRUDERS.