As I sealed my note it occurred to me that George must be the first special constable to win the Cross, and I felt a glow of satisfaction to realise that we must now be eligible for that most glorious of all decorations.

A few days later came another note from Agatha, about sugar-cards this time, but with a postscript which said, “It isn’t like you to chaff me, James.  I don’t see that there is anything particularly funny about George having got the Vacuum Cleaner which he promised me long ago.”

* * * * *

BIG GAME.

    “General Allenby reports that Budrus and Sheikh Obeid Rahid, to
    the north of Midieh, were captured by Gurkhas, 50 Tanks being
    killed and 10 taken prisoners.”—­Evening Paper.

* * * * *

    “Ruler wanted, experienced, male or female (male preferred); wages
    according to ability; removal assistance; away from raid area;
    permanency to suitable applicant.”—­Eastern Daily Press.

This might suit the KAISER, when Sir DOUGLAS HAIG has provided the necessary “removal assistance.”

* * * * *

    “WHERE EX-TSAR KEEPS HIS GLOOMY COURT.

    “Built mostly of wood, the Imperial family occupies a brick
    mansion.”—­News of the World.

We are intended to infer, presumably, that if the Imperial Family had been constructed of stouter material it might still be in the Winter Palace.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Motor Driver.  “NAH, THEN, WHERE’S YOUR REAR LIGHT?”

Countryman.  “NOW, THEN, YE OWD ZEPPERLEEN, DO YE THINK I’M GOING TO SHOW YE WHERE I BE?”]

* * * * *

TO THE REGIMENT.

A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE.

  So Christmas comes and finds you yet in Flanders,
    And all is mud and messiness and sleet,
  And men have temperatures and horses glanders,
    And Brigadiers have trouble with their feet,
  And life is bad for Company-Commanders,
    And even Thomas’s is not so sweet.

  Now cooks for kindlewood would give great riches,
    And in the dixies the pale stew congeals,
  And ration-parties are not free from hitches,
    But all night circle like performing seals,
  Till morning breaks and everybody pitches
    Into a hole some other person’s meals.

  Now regiments huddle over last week’s ashes
    And pray for coal and sedulously “rest,”
  Where rain and wind contemn the empty sashes,
    And blue lips frame the faint heroic jest,
  Till some near howitzer goes off and smashes
    The only window that the town possessed.

  Yet somehow Christmas in your souls is stirring,
    And Colonels now less viciously upbraid
  Their Transport Officers, however erring,
    And sudden signals issue from Brigade
  To say next Tuesday Christmas is occurring,
    And what arrangements have Battalions made?