The hum of distant artillery was in his ears as ever, like a moaning of the wind, but he was growing so used to it that he would now have noticed its absence rather than its presence.

So he ate his share of bread and sausage with a good appetite, meanwhile keeping a watchful eye upon the heavens which burned in the same brilliant blue.
It was now about noon.

The rain the night before had given fresh tints to the green of grass and foliage.

The whole earth, indifferent to the puny millions that struggled on its vast bosom, seemed refreshed and revitalized.

A modest little bird in brown plumage perched on a bough near them, and, indifferent too, to war, poured forth a brilliant volume of song.
"Happy little fellow," John said.