The first day of freedom for the escaped prisoners of war in the land of their captivity was spent midway between two lines of communication that ran from the boche armies back to their bases of supply. One of these routes lay about a mile to the north and the other about a mile to the south of the group of farm houses in which the fugitive Americans and French were concealed. At points in both of these routes they could see numerous motor vehicles rushing in both directions, probably bearing wounded and reserves as well as supplies. A little nearer to the north also could be seen crews of men at work repairing a railroad bed and tracks that undoubtedly had been blown up by the French in their retreat.

It was agreed that the men should move about very little in their quarters during the day. Lookouts were stationed at certain windows and doors of the farm buildings, although these positions were camouflaged as much as possible with articles of furniture, farm implements, straw, et cetera, to prevent any chance betrayal of the hiding place of the escaped prisoners.

These lookouts also inspected as best they could the harvest possibilities of the agricultural vicinity, and it was estimated that even in the dark a considerable supply of vegetables and nearly ripened apples could be gathered. In a bin in one of the barns was discovered several bushels of year-old barley.

In the course of the day, between sleeps, Phil, Tim and Evans, from the loftiest viewpoint attainable in the cupola of one of the barns, made a studied survey of the country to the west. They found that they had approached to within a mile and a half of a small village directly in their course of advance, and that perhaps not more than two miles beyond this were the (probable) ruins of another French town. Phil had not been in France long before he observed that the municipalities, large and small, are situated much more closely together than are the cities and towns of even the most thickly populated portions of America.

Phil and Tim also had opportunity during this day to recount in detail their experiences to each other since their separation in Belleau Woods. Phil also questioned his friend regarding the wound that had rendered him unconscious for fifteen or twenty minutes on the scene of the novel battle in the ravine. In reply, Tim pulled off his overseas cap and disclosed a small crudely-made plaster-bandage, that was held in place by the cap.

“It wasn’t a bad wound,” he explained; “but it might easily have fractured my skull. The bullet hit the side of my head a good hard rap, but glanced and cut a furrow in my scalp.

“I came to just as that funny looking bunch o’ boches were leading you off through the timber. The sight o’ that put a thrill of life into me and I staggered to my feet and started after you. The boches had left my gun lying on the ground, thinking, I suppose, that I was dead and would be unable to use it.

“I was just waiting until I could get control of myself before I opened fire on those pesky Huns. If I’d not felt quite so shaky on my pins I’d ’a’ blazed away as soon as I waked up, for I figured the firing would attract friends our way. But I guess that fellow that jumped onto your back was the smartest one in their crowd, for he must ’a’ figured we were likely to have comrades in the neighborhood and been on the lookout for ’em. Anyway, before long he played the same game on me that he played on you, sneaking around and jumpin’ on me from behind.

“Well, they took me along with you only a short distance behind, and you never knew I was trailing along. I walked back behind with a couple of boches and jollied them along the best I could. I guess I succeeded pretty well, judging from results.

“It seems that this squad were part of a regular crew that made trips with prisoners back behind the lines and took part in the fighting while waiting for a bunch of prisoners large enough for a trip. At least, that’s what I gathered from their conversation. You know I learned to talk German pretty well while living with a German family in Pennsylvania, and I made good use of it with these fellows. Camouflaging my boasts with all the modesty I could put into words, I told ’em all about my accomplishments. I guess I hit ’em about right when I told ’em I could cook as well as any Pennsylvania-Dutch grandmother, and they set me to work on a mess truck right away. That’s why you didn’t see me during the trip, Phil. But I picked you out in the line.”

“I don’t admire your cooking very much,” his friend commented with a smile. “Is that what you call Pennsylvania-Dutch cooking?”

Tim grinned ruefully.

“’Tisn’t my fault,” he said. “Those parsimonious Prussians stood over me and told me how much oil I could burn to warm a barrel o’ stew. And if the first match didn’t light the burner, you folks ’u’d have to eat your meal cold, they said. Oh, they’ve got everything down to an efficiency and conservation basis for winning the war, they have.”

“How did you get away from them?” Phil asked.

“Just walked away,” Tim replied in a matter-of-fact manner. “It was really funny. I guess they were all interested in that wine cellar that one o’ them discovered, but I didn’t know it at the time. Anyway, they seemed to lose all interest in me, and several times I found myself all alone. I was so astonished that I didn’t have sense to cut stick until I concluded that I was an everlasting fool if I didn’t, and I don’t believe they know I’m gone yet.”

“They’ll know about the time they’ve sobered up,” Phil returned with a prophetic grin. “And by the time the whole truth of developments dawns on them, there’ll be something doing, believe me.”