“Oh! what do you think of that?” Amos was heard to exclaim.

He looked as though he could hardly realize he understood the correct meaning of the poor old distracted peasant’s lament. FranÇois was standing there with his head bent; his wife still on her knees rocked to and fro with many groanings, as though her heart might be nearly broken.

Indeed, it was a strange spectacle for those two American lads, and one that gave them a thrill. They had felt wonderfully shaken when witnessing the rush of Teuton files on the British lines, and watched scores, yes even hundreds of furiously fighting men fall in heaps; but this was entirely different. Now pity filled their boyish hearts. They believed they could fully comprehend the measure of shame that must wring the hearts of this honest couple.

They had but one child, and he a young man who should be at the front standing bravely up in defense of his beloved country. Instead of that he had deserted from his regiment, and made his way secretly home, possibly sending his parents word in some way that he was coming in order to have them hide him.

Those old people had the right spirit in their hearts. The man, yes, and even the old housewife also, would have been ready and willing to risk and lose their own lives in the great cause of king and country. To discover that their only boy had a “yellow streak” in his nature filled them with shame and bitter regret. They feared that if the truth ever became known they might never again look their friends and neighbors in the face—those devoted patriots on all sides who had made the greatest possible sacrifices.

Jack was almost as much shaken with compassion for the couple as Amos gave evidence of being. He put out a hand and seized that of the man, which he insisted on squeezing in his whole-hearted boyish fashion.

“I am sorry that we forced you to tell us this, FranÇois Bart,” he said, and at the time Amos wondered why his chum spoke so loudly, until presently he remembered that the boy soldier was just beneath that floor, and could possibly overhear every word that was said, as Jack doubtless intended should be the case.

“You see, M’sieu,” explained the peasant abjectly, “Jean is our child, and we love him. We could not turn him away from our door, for if seen he might be arrested and shot at ten paces. So we are in great distress of mind. We could let everything we have in this world go, and still smile, but to know that our flesh and blood is a—coward. Oh! that is worse than death itself to both of us.”

“Then you do not stand back of him in his desertion?” asked Jack.

“M’sieu, if the news came to us that our Jean had fallen covered with glory in his place at the front we could rejoice, and be satisfied, for we must always remember that he gave his poor life for our country. But that he should turn out to be a deserter, and run from duty breaks our hearts!”

Jack felt sure he detected some sort of movement under the floor. He believed the wretched Jean must have his ear pressed against the boards, and was not losing a single word of all that they said. So when he spoke again the ranch boy kept his voice at a pitch sufficiently high to be heard.

“We are sorry for you, FranÇois,” he said. “It must be a terrible thing for a father and mother in Belgium to know that their only son is a coward, and that he has allowed his fears to force him to shirk his plain duty to his king. Have you done all you can to convince him of his mistake?”

“M’sieu, we have pleaded, and almost threatened, but he keeps on saying that although his heart seems to be brave enough, his legs refuse to carry him again into the terrible battle where his comrades are falling all around him.”

“Then he has already been under fire?” asked Jack, in a surprised tone.

“Oh! yes, and one of his friends who came back badly wounded told us Jean was showing himself almost a hero. We believed that the old failing in his blood had been conquered. Then we had word from him, and this night he came, trembling with fear, saying that he must be hidden until he could find a chance to cross over into England where he would be safe.”

“Try once more to arouse him,” said Jack. “Appeal to him by everything that he holds dear. Tell him that you would sooner see him brought home dead than that he desert in the face of danger. Perhaps the spasm of fear may have passed by then. He may have come to his senses, and realize that his true nature is not that of a coward. He has already shown that he can stand up under fire and give a good account of himself. And, FranÇois, we both hope all may come out well with you—and Jean! Now we will be glad to go up into the loft once more and get some sleep.”

The peasant looked a little more hopeful; even his wife arose from her knees, to the great relief of Amos, who disliked very much seeing her in that position.

“It is kind of you, young M’sieu!” exclaimed the man. “Then you believe what we have told you? You no longer suspect us of harboring a German spy under our poor roof?”

“We are sorry for you, that is all,” Jack told him. “You need fear nothing from us, since we would not betray your secret for worlds. All we hope is that your boy Jean will be able to shake himself together, and resolve to go back to his duty like every Belgian who is worth his salt is doing this day. Come along, Amos, let’s try for another sleep.”

When the two boys had climbed once more into the loft, to find the candle still lighted as Jack had left it, of course the first thing Amos did was to ask his chum a few questions that were burning on his tongue.

“Do you think he heard what was said, Jack; and was that the reason you spoke in such a loud tone?”

“You’ve guessed it, Amos. Somehow, I felt so sorry for that poor couple in their bitter humiliation and shame that I just wanted to see if I couldn’t arouse whatever spark of patriotism there might be in Jean’s soul. Yes, I’m sure he caught every word we said.”

“The question is, will it do him a particle of good, Jack? He must be a pretty poor specimen of a young fellow to act the way he has.”

“Well, that can only be proved by time,” Jack told him, with a shake of his head. “It would be next door to a miracle, of course, and yet such things have happened before and may again. Honestly, I don’t believe the boy’s such a terrible coward as he lets himself think.”

“He passed through more or less fighting, they said.”

“Yes, and something has happened to give him a scare,” declared Jack, who had a sagacious way of looking at all such things. “If he could get a firm grip on himself once more there’s still a chance that he might win honors enough to wipe out the disgrace he’s made his folks feel. Anyway, I hope that will happen.”

From the way Jack yawned it was evident that he did not feel like discussing the matter any further. Amos took the hint, for he, too, began to feel sleepy, now that the cause of their recent excitement had passed away.

So he also gaped, and started to crawl under the covers, after he had again removed his shoes and coat. Jack blew out the candle, and in the darkness they composed themselves to forget all their troubles. Since Amos was so deeply concerned in finding his long missing brother, whom he really believed to be in the ranks of the Allies serving as an aviator, this often proved to be a difficult task; but being unusually tired after that arduous day, he presently managed to lose himself once more.

The long night passed. If from time to time there stole in through the open window of that loft in the humble Belgian cottage the deep-throated growl of those great German howitzers such as had reduced the steel forts at LiÉge, Namur and since then other fortifications deemed impregnable, the sound did not seem to disturb the chums any more than distant thunder would have done. They were by this time becoming so accustomed to hearing the mutterings of fierce war that they did not pay as much attention to the same as had been the case some time back.

There was no further cause for a sudden awakening. Once, however, when Jack found himself awake he raised his head to listen, thinking the low murmur of voices had sifted to his ears. When he made sure that it came from below he might have smiled as though satisfied, but the fact could not be made manifest in the gloom of that loft.

“I wonder if the seed did take root, and will it grow?” was all Jack whispered to himself, as he calmly turned over to continue his interrupted sleep.

So the dawn found them. Daylight, sweeping in through the small windows told Jack it was time they were up. He aroused Amos, who was apparently content to linger indefinitely in his cozy bed.

“It’s morning, Amos!” he called out. “Time we were moving, if we mean to do anything today.”

“And say, Jack, seems to me I can smell cooking going on in the bargain, which is always as good as a goad to get me out of bed,” with which Amos proceeded to reach for his shoes.

Yes, they could hear the old couple moving about below stairs. Jack was not sure but it did seem to him that their footsteps had a more sprightly ring. Somehow the very suspicion of such a thing did him good, though he did not think it worth while to mention the fact to Amos.

“We must be on the border of Ypres, don’t you think?” Amos remarked, showing that he was naturally thinking of the chances they had of finding the daring aviator who answered to the name of Frank Bradford, and whom he fully believed must be his own brother.

“Everything points that way,” replied Jack. “Looking out, I’ve already seen troops hurrying past, British Tommies at that, and all looking fit for any kind of fighting if their eager faces counted for anything. But if you’re ready we’ll go down below, get a bite, and then make the old people accept all we can spare; for the chances are they’ll need every franc they can get together before the end of this nasty business comes around.”

Amos was thinking mostly of the delightful odor of cooking as he came down the ladder-like stairs that led from the loft to the lower floor of the cottage. With Jack it was somewhat different, for his first thought was to look keenly at FranÇois and his wife, who had faced about on hearing the trap raised.

When Jack saw that the careworn expression had been magically lifted from those furrowed faces he felt almost like giving a shout of real satisfaction.

Straight over to them he hurried, still keeping his eyes fastened on their telltale faces.

“What is the good word, FranÇois?” he asked, in his straight-from-the-shoulder fashion; and indeed there was hardly any necessity to even ask that much, Jack thought, since appearances speak more loudly than words.

“Oh! young M’sieu, what can we say to thank you?” burst out the old peasant, while his good wife nodded vehemently to show that in her mind she echoed all her “good man” said. “The best that ever could happen has come to us. Jean has seen a great light. He has won the great victory over himself. Yes, he signalled to me to let him come up, and then and there he swore that he would go straight back to his place in the fighting line, and die a dozen deaths before quitting again. We are so happy! Now we can look our friends and neighbors in the face without feeling a cold hand at our hearts. Jean may live to see us again; but if he should not surely the Good Father above will console us if we knew that he died for the king!”

Amos had to furtively rub his eyes as though some mote had suddenly blown in there; even Jack felt his own vision a little obscured as he pressed the hands of the relieved old people, who no longer held their heads down in shame.

“Come,” said Jack, cheerily, “let’s have a bite and then we must leave you, FranÇois.”