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.
When he awoke in the morning the sun was shining in the trench, the bottom of which was covered with eight inches of snow, now slushy on top from the red beams.

John felt himself restored and strong, and he stepped down into the snow and slush, having first tucked his blue-gray trousers into his high boots.

He was lucky in the possession of a fine pair of boots that would turn the last drop of water, and in such times as these they were worth more than gold.
A shell screaming high overhead was his morning salutation, and then came other shells, desultory but noisy.

John paid no more attention to them than if they had been distant bees buzzing.

He looked at his young prisoner, Kratzek, and found that he was still sleeping, with a healthy color in his face.