IN the excitement of a distribution of letters from which the squad
were returning--some with the delight of a letter, some with the
semi-delight of a postcard, and others with a new load (speedily
reassumed) of expectation and hope--a comrade comes with a brandished
newspaper to tell us an amazing story--"Tu sais, the weasel-faced
ancient at Gauchin?"
"The old boy who was treasure-seeking?"
"Well, he's found it!"
"Gerraway!"
"It's just as I tell you, you great lump! What would you like me to say
to you? Mass? Don't know it. Anyway, the yard of his place has been
bombed, and a chest full of money was turned up out of the ground near
a wall. He got his treasure full on the back. And now the parson's
quietly cut in and talks about claiming credit for the miracle."