Often, in the grim, bloody days to come, they thought of the little Swiss toymaker up there among his windmills and Noah's arks, and of his laugh at their expense. A merry little gnome he was, the very spirit of the Black Forest.

Their last sight of him marked almost the end of their wanderings. For another day's tramping through the solemn depths brought them to a little community, a tiny forest village, made up of just such cottages and people, and they made a detour to avoid it, only to run plunk into another miniature industrial centre which they also "side-stepped," though indeed the iron fist seemed not to be very tightly closed upon these primitive knights of the jack-knife and chisel; and they saw no dreaded sign of authority.

Still they did not wish to be reckless and when they sought food and shelter it was at a sequestered cottage several miles from the nearest habitation. Here Tom showed his button but the old man (they saw no young men) seemed not to know what it meant, although he gave them food, apparently believing them to be German soldiers.

Tom believed that they must have journeyed fifty or sixty miles southward, verging away from the river so as to keep within the depths of the forest, and he realized that the time had come for them to consider just what course they were going to pursue.

"If we're going to try to find her," he said rather hesitatingly, "we ought to hit it west so's we can take a pike across the river. But if we keep straight south we'll strike the river after it bends, if that old weaver knew what he was talking about, and when we cross it we'll be in Switzerland. We'll do whatever you say. Going straight south would be easier and safer," he added, with his usual blunt honesty; "and if we cross back into Alsace we'll have to go past houses and people and we'll be taking chances.—I admit it's like things in a book—I mean rescuing girls," he said, with his characteristic awkward frankness, "and maybe some people would say it was crazy, kind of——" What he meant was romantic, but he didn't exactly know how to say that. "As long as we've been lucky so far maybe we ought to get across the frontier and over to France as quick as we can. I s'pose that's where we belong—most of all——"

"Is that what you think?" said Archer.

"I ain't sayin' what I think, but——"

"Well, then, I'll say what I think," retorted Archer. "You're always telling about thoughts you've had. I don't claim I'm as good as you arre at having thoughts, but if therre's a soldierr wounded they send two or three soldierrs to carry the stretcherr, don't they? Maybe those soldierrs ought to be fighting, but saving a person comes firrst. You've hearrd about giving all you have to the Red Cross. All we got is the chance to get away. We've got morre chance than we had when we starrted, 'cause you'rre a good scout——"

"I don't claim——"

"Shut up," said Archer; "so it's like saving up ourr chances and adding to 'em, till now we're 'most in Switzerland and we got a good big chance saved up. I'll tell you what I'm going to do with mine—I'm going to give it to the Red Cross—kind of—as you'd say. If that girrl is worrkin' on that road and I can find herr, I'm goin' to. If I get pinched, all right. So it ain't a question of what we'rre goin' to do; it's a question of: Are you with me? You're always tellin' when yourr thoughts come to you. Well, I got that one just before I dived for the glass. So that's the way I'm going to invest my chance, 'cause I haven't got anything else to give.... I heard in prison about the Liberty Bond buttons they give you to wearr back home. I'd like to have one of those blamed things to wearr for a souveneerr."

Tom Slade had stood silent throughout this harangue, and now he laughed a little awkwardly. "It's better than investing money," he said, "and what I'm laughing at—kind of," he added with infinite relief and satisfaction showing through the emotion he was trying to repress; "what I'm laughing at is how you're always thinking about souvenirs."

So it was decided that their little joint store, their savings, as one might say—their standing capital of chance which they had improved and added to—should be invested in the hazardous business of rescuing a daughter of France from her German captors. It was giving with a vengeance.

It is a pity that there was no button to signalize this kind of a contribution.