He was in a pleasant mental glow, because he had saved young Kratzek,
forgetting the rest who lay out there under the snow. All his instincts
were for mercy and gentleness, but like others, he was being hardened by
war, or at least he was made forgetful. Resting in the earthen side of a
trench, the horrors of the battle passed out of his mind. The white
gloom was so heavy there that he could not see the other wall four feet
away, and the falling flakes almost grazed his face as they passed, but
he had a marvelous sense of comfort and ease, even of luxury. The
caveman had fared no better, often worse, because he had no blankets,
and John drew a deep sigh of content.
A gun thundered somewhere far back in the German lines, and a gun also
far back in the French lines thundered in reply. Then came a random and
scattering fire of rifles through the falling snow from both sides, but
John was not disturbed in the least by these reports. He felt as safe in
his narrow trench as if he had been a hundred miles from the field of
battle, and compared, with the driving storm outside, his six feet by
one of an earthen bed was all he wished. The pleasant warmth from the
blankets flowed through his veins, and his limbs and senses relaxed.
There was firing again, faint and from a distant point, but it was
soothing now like the tune played on the little mouth-organ earlier in
the evening, and he fell into a deep and peaceful slumber.
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