Tom Pollard's mind was suddenly brought back to mundane things. It was now nearly one o'clock in the morning, and the night was chilly; a breeze having sprung up, the clouds had rolled away.
He distinctly heard a shout, and as far as he could make out it came from the German trenches, which were not far away.
"Holloa!"
"Holloa!" said Tom, "what is it?" He thought one of the other men on patrol duty had spoken to him.
"You belong to the Lancashires, don't you?"
"Of course I do," replied Tom; "what of that?" He was able to locate the voice now, and knew it came from a German trench.
"I have got something to tell you," and the words were followed by a laugh.
Whoever it was spoke in perfectly good English, although with a German accent.
"I reckon it'll be lies," was Tom's reply.
By this time another sentry, hearing Tom's voice, had rushed up to him.