“Look out, there may be officers quartered there.”
They walked cautiously round the square, silent group of buildings. There were no lights. The big wooden door of the court pushed open easily, without creaking. On the roof of the barn the pigeon-cot was etched dark against the disc of the moon. A warm smell of stables blew in their faces as the two men tiptoed into the manure-littered farmyard. Under one of the sheds they found a table on which a great many pears were set to ripen. Chrisfield put his teeth into one. The rich sweet juice ran down his chin. He ate the pear quickly and greedily, and then bit into another.
“Fill yer pockets with 'em,” whispered Judkins.
“They might ketch us.”
“Ketch us, hell. We'll be goin' into the offensive in a day or two.”
“Ah sure would like to git some aigs.”
Chrisfield pushed open the door of one of the barns. A smell of creamy milk and cheeses filled his nostrils.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Want some cheese?”
A lot of cheeses ranged on a board shone silver in the moonlight that came in through the open door.
“Hell, no, ain't fit te eat,” said Judkins, pushing his heavy fist into one of the new soft cheeses.