and everywhere there were little trees and shrubs, which had been too low for the shells to hit,—or for the fire, which had seared the poplars, to catch. The hill must have been wrapped in flames at one time, and all the tall trees had been burned.
The barrack was built against the walls of the cloister,—three arches of which remained, like a stone wing to the shed of planks. On a ladder stood a one-armed young man, driving nails very skilfully with his single hand. He seemed to be making a frame projection from the sloping roof, to support an awning. He carried his nails in his mouth. When he wanted one, he hung his hammer to the belt of his trousers, took a nail from between his teeth, stuck it into the wood, and then deftly rapped it on the head. Claude watched him for a moment, then went to the foot of the ladder and held out his two hands. “Laissez-moi” he exclaimed.
The one aloft spat his nails out into his palm, looked down, and laughed He was about Claude’s age, with very yellow hair and moustache and blue eyes. A charming looking fellow.
“Willingly,” he said. “This is no great affair, but I do it to amuse myself, and it will be pleasant for the ladies.” He descended and gave his hammer to the visitor. Claude set to work on the frame, while the other went under the stone arches and brought back a roll of canvas, part of an old tent, by the look of it.
“Un héritage des Boches,” he explained unrolling it upon the grass. “I found it among their filth in the cellar, and had the idea to make a pavilion for the ladies, as our trees are destroyed.” He stood up suddenly. “Perhaps you have come to see the ladies?”
“Plus lard!”
Very well, the boy said, they would get the pavilion done
