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They have fallen all around us, but never on us. One, which I saw fall, killed five horses straight off, and wounded the Yeomanry chap who was holding them. We have shifted position two or three times; it is windy, and very cold. A new and unpleasant experience in the shape of a pom-pom has come upon the scene.

A pom-pom of ours is now popping away just ahead, and there is a good deal of rifle-fire. We and the convoy were at once moved to a position close under a kopje between us and the enemy. Shells are coming over pretty fast, but I don't see how they can reach us here. A most curious one has just come sailing very slowly overhead, and growling and hiccoughing in the strangest way.

At the close the day was undecided; the infantry had taken some trenches, but were still face to face with others, and fire was hottest at sunset. But I believe the pom-pom was smashed up, and a big gun silenced, if not smashed. We bivouacked where we were, but desultory rifle-fire went on long after dark. July 24. Reveillé at five.

De Wet passed northwards through Strydenburg, past Hopetown, and so to the Orange River, which was found to be too swollen with the rains to permit of his crossing. Here upon the 23rd, after a march of forty-five miles on end, Plumer ran into him once more, and captured with very little fighting a fifteen-pounder, a pom-pom, and close on to a hundred prisoners.

On February 9th he had reached Phillipolis, well ahead of the British pursuit, and spent a day or two in making his final arrangements before carrying the war over the border. His force consisted at this time of nearly 8000 men, with two 15-pounders, one pom-pom, and one maxim.

Empty pom-pom shells, which are small and portable, are much sought after; and our own brass cartridge, if one could take an old one along, would make a beautiful lamp-stand at home. Rum to-night. August 8. Reveillé at six. Off at 7.30. Another march over the same bare, undulating plain.

Oh-Pshaw whispered to Agony. "Ours are in the trunk, and it hasn't been brought up yet." "I don't believe we are," Agony returned, watching Mary Sylvester, who stood talking to Pom-pom in the doorway of the Camp Director's office. "None of the older girls are doing it; just the youngsters." Just then Mrs.

And the rest burst into angry yells. Roger indignantly threw his hands down, palms toward the chief, as if to indicate that we had come in friendship; but the man laughed scornfully and repeated the phrase, "Pom-pom!" Again Roger spoke indignantly; again he threw his hands down, palms out. But once more the cry, "Pom-pom, pom-pom," rose fiercely, and the angry throng pressed closer about us.

A Hungarian orchestra occupied an inclosed platform, and every night the wail of the violin and the pom-pom of the wool-tipped hammers on the Hungarian "piano" might be heard. It was essentially a man's place of entertainment; few women ever had the courage or the inclination to enter.

He is wearing a long, wadded pelisse, a scarf, a big cap with a fluffy pom-pom, and warm over-boots. He feels hot and stifled, and now, too, the rollicking April sunshine is beating straight in his face, and making his eyelids tingle. The whole of his clumsy, timidly and uncertainly stepping little figure expresses the utmost bewilderment.