Poor Shock, for I knew him better by that name; he followed me with the fidelity of a dog; he always contrived something hot for me when we were almost starving, and any day he would have gone without that I might eat.

And I believe that he would have fought for me to the death.
Poor Shock! The night when I was told that he could not live, after being struck down by a piece of shell, I knelt by him in the mud and held his hand.

He just looked up in my face and said softly: "Remember being shut up in the sand-pit, sir, and how you prayed?
If you wouldn't mind, sir--once again ?" I bent down lower and lower, and at last--soldier--hardened by horrors-- grown stern by the life I led--I felt as if I had lost in that rough, true man the best of friends, and I cried over him like a child! THE END..