Part 17 (1/2)

Here and there were farmhouses, some in ruins, others scarcely touched by the devastating wave of war. But in these latter, which were still habitable, there were no men or women, and no laughing children. In fact, throughout France it is probable that there were no laughing children at this stage of the war. Or if they laughed, it was because they were too young to appreciate the menace of the Boche invasion.

”We may not be so badly off for food, even if we eat up all our Secretary of the Interior has,” remarked Bob, as they trudged along a deserted road. They had, some time since, left behind them the burning mill. It was out of sight, though they could catch occasional glimpses of the smoke from it.

”What do you mean!” asked Jimmy.

”Well, there may be a lot of good things to eat in some of these farmhouses,” suggested the young corporal. ”I vote we take a look.”

”It can't do any harm,” decided Jimmy. ”But I doubt if we find anything worth taking.”

And he was right--at least in the first few houses the boys entered.

The cupboards had been cleaned out, if not by the unfortunate owners, then by the Germans who had devastated the region.

”We'll have to live on what we have,” said Jimmy. ”And we may not be so badly off for all that Lots of the boys have been without food for three days. If they stood it we can. And we may get to our lines sooner than we expect.”

”I don't see why we shouldn't get there by night,” observed Roger. ”We didn't hike very far when we were fighting, and our boys can't have retreated far enough in the time that has elapsed since the fighting changed, to get entirely beyond our reach. I believe we'll be with our own division by night.”

”Well, it doesn't do any harm to hope,” said Jimmy. ”But we've got to be cautious just the same.”

They kept on, ever on the alert for a sight of the Germans, ever hoping for a sight of their own khaki-clad comrades. They appeared to be marching away from the scene of the battle, or battles. The firing became fainter. The country was now quite open, consisting of little hills and valleys. Each time they came to a height which afforded a place for observation, they looked all around. But all they saw, besides an occasional deserted farmhouse, or patch of woods, were rolling clouds of mist or smoke.

There had been considerable rain, and the ground was damp. The sun, s.h.i.+ning on this, caused the moisture to condense into fog that swirled about here and there. The day had begun wonderfully clear, but now it looked like rain again.

They halted in a little grove of trees and ate some of their none-too-plentiful rations. Then, after a rest, they started on again.

It was late afternoon when, as they were hiking down a lonely road, the rain suddenly began to fall.

”Whew! Now we're in for it!” exclaimed Roger, as he did his best to protect the bag of food. ”We might better have stayed back in the woods.”

”Let's double-quick it!” suggested Bob. ”Maybe there's a house around the bend in the road.”

They hastened on, and the surmise of Bob proved correct. There was a lonely little house--more of a cabin, or shack--set in the midst of what had been a garden, but now overgrown with weeds.

”Shelter, at any rate!” cried Jimmy. ”Come on, fellows!”

Roger was the first to enter the humble little cottage. But he had no sooner crossed the threshold than he started back.

”What's the matter?” asked Bob, who was directly behind his chum. ”Any Germans here?”

”No, but I fancy the owner is,” said Roger. ”Look!”

He pointed to the figure of an old man, with white hair, seated at a table in what was evidently the kitchen. The man's head was bowed on his arms which were resting on the table.

”Oh!” exclaimed Jimmy, as he looked in.

”Beg your pardon, sir,” said Bob, ”but we're Americans. May we stay here out of the rain, and perhaps for the night?”

There was no answer. The figure did not move.

”He doesn't understand anything but French, very likely,” said Franz.