258
A SHOT
had been living, returned to a more beautiful earth.
He remembered that he was on duty, and that he was late and would be missed. He picked up his gun and took a short cut through the bushes. Damp clay seemed to hold his steps.
The thick growth of rusty brown leaves, hips, alders, syringas, and young maples hid the distant view.
Martin was not thinking of what he saw, he was looking towards the sky which had cleared. The sun was shining through the beeches, laying pale patches of light at his feet, and touching his burning face.
He felt the warmth and was glad of it; then he realized that he was humming a tune; he had not done that since the spring! And, although his chest was still hurting him, he sang aloud.
