  When Jock had gone stomping out to follow the Young Lord on his tour of inspection, Dave found himself alone with Cherry. “Listen, Cherry.” He was more excited than the girl had ever known him to be. “I’ve got a grand idea!” “That’s what England needs right now,” the girl laughed nervously. “Just think what happened today, and is likely to happen more and more.” “That’s just it!” Dave leaned forward eagerly. “In all of England there are thousands of anxious people, millions, really, who need a touch of youthful cheer. And you can give it to them!” “I?” The girl caught her breath. “How?” “By singing for them as you sang for us tonight—singing over the radio.” “Oh—o!” Cherry drew in a long breath. “I hadn’t thought of doing that. You—you see, I’m only a local song bird in a little country village. Easter at the church, you know, Christmas carols, parties, and all that. But the radio! I—I—just—” “Don’t say you couldn’t,” Dave pleaded. “Please say you’ll try. We must each do our bit.” He had forgotten for the moment that this was not his war. “Yes, I know,” Cherry breathed. “There’s mother, you know. She was a World War nurse. Now she’s directing an entire ward. Alice has her refugee children. And I—I just sit in the sun and tend the sheep.” “Yes. And you might be the most talked-of girl in England!” Dave was bursting with his new idea. “Just go up to London with me tomorrow. My uncle has a trans-Atlantic news broadcast. He’ll arrange it all. Wi—will you go?” “Sure! Shake on it.” The girl put out a slim hand. “It’s just as I thought,” declared the Little Lord, as the men came stomping back into the room a moment later. “Those bombs were rather small. A Messerschmitt can’t carry a heavy load. But they can keep all of England on edge with their nuisance flight.” “Cheerio!” Cherry sprang to her feet. “At least one Messerschmitt has ceased to be a nuisance, and that, I’m told, is because a certain Young Lord learned how to fly long ago.” “All part of a day’s work,” the Young Lord grinned. “I’d like just such a scrap every morning before breakfast.” At that the cook brought in cakes and steaming coffee and they all took seats by the great broad three-inch thick table that had served the Ramsey family for more than a hundred years. In the meantime Alice was telling her young refugees the promised spy story. “Once,” she began, “in that other terrible war, the one in which my father and your grandfather fought, there were two spies named Louise and Charlotte.” “Oh!” Tillie exclaimed with a sudden start. “Are there really lady spies?” “To be sure,” was the quiet reply. “Goody!” Tillie clapped her hands. “I’m going to be a lady spy!” “Yes sir!” Peggy broke in with her high, piping voice. “We’ll both be spies. You be Louise, and I’ll be Charlotte!” “Wait and see!” the story teller warned. “Let me tell you the story. Then you may not want to be a spy at all!” “Oh, yes we will!” Tillie insisted. “Aunt Alice (they called her aunt) do we have a spy right here on our farm?” The child’s voice was low, mysterious. “Hush!” Alice warned. “Don’t dare to breathe a word about that.” “Tillie!” The younger child’s voice rose sharply, “Let her tell the story!” And so, while the children lay back among the cushions, Alice told the story of Louise and Charlotte. “They had lived in France.” Her voice was low and mellow. “Then had come the terrible German soldiers. Louise fled before them. Charlotte hid in a cellar. “Louise was very bright. She had been a teacher. She could speak French, German and Belgian. “A great soldier asked her to be a spy. This frightened her nearly out of her wits. But she said ‘all right. I will do it.’ “One dark night a great giant of a man named Alphonse, who had been a smuggler and was a friend of her country, took her hand and said: ‘We will go.’” “Wh—where did they go?” Tillie was growing excited. “They went to the border.” Alice smiled. “At the border there was a very high barbed wire fence. You couldn’t go over it. If you tried to go under it you might touch an electric wire that would sound an alarm. Then you would be shot. If you tripped on something it might set off a mine, and you’d be blown to bits.” “And wa—was—” Tillie got no further. Her sister’s fingers were on her lips. “We do have a spy” “We do have a spy” “Alphonse knew all about these things,” Alice went on. “He made a hole under the fence. The earth was very loose. He had gone under before. They got across safely. Then they were in the land where German soldiers were. And, just when they were breathing easy, a blinding white light swept along the barbed wire fence. It was searching for them.” “And—did—” “Alphonse and Louise dropped flat and lay there hiding their faces in the damp earth. The sweeping searchlight came and went, came and went, then came to go away for good.” “Oh—oo!” Peggy breathed. “They didn’t get them.” Just then Tillie sat straight up. “Aunt Alice!” she cried. “We do have a spy on our farm. I saw his face at the window. I really did, just now.” At that same instant the dog Flash growled softly. Visibly shaken, Alice managed to regain her poise. “Shish!” was all she said. Then she went on with her story. “When this loyal French girl reached her home where German soldiers now were living, she began making lace and selling it from town to town. What was more important, she was finding friends to help her work as a spy. One was a scientist who could do strange things with chemicals, magnifying glasses, cameras and printing presses. Another was a map maker who in shorthand could write three thousand words with invisible ink on a piece of transparent paper so small Louise could paste it to a spectacle lens and carry it across the line that way.” “What for?” Tillie breathed. “So none of the German spies could read it,” Alice explained. “You see,” she went on, “things were happening over there that great French and English officers needed to know. And Louise could tell them. Once there was a terrible battle. Thousands of Germans were wounded. How many? Louise must find out. “There was a house close to the railroad track where all the cars filled with wounded soldiers were passing. Someone hid in the dark room. Every time a car passed, she’d tap on the floor, tap, tap, tap. In the next room, seeming to study her lessons, was a school girl.” “Just like you and me!” Tillie squeezed Peggy’s arm. “This school girl was making marks on paper,” Alice went on. “Four marks, then one across, four more and one across.” “Keeping track of the taps. I could do that.” Tillie was growing excited again. “When all the trains had passed,” Alice whispered, “Louise counted up all the marks. Then she multiplied that by the number of wounded men in each car, and so she knew how many thousands had been badly wounded. But how was she to get that number across the line?” “Paste it on her spectacle,” suggested Tillie. “Not this time, she didn’t,” Alice smiled. “She wrote it on a paper and hid it. You’d never guess where.” “In her shoe—in her glove—in her hair,” Tillie exploded. “Nope. None of these.” Alice shook her head. “Let me tell you all about it, then you may guess.” “Al—all right.” Tillie drew a long breath as she settled back. “You see,” said Alice, “Louise was going down a dark road in the night. In one hand she carried her bag of laces, in the other a lantern. It was a tin lantern. The tin was all full of holes. Inside a candle flickered. It didn’t give much light, just enough. Suddenly a gruff voice commanded: “‘Halt!’ “Louise was taken to a rough cabin where a short broad German spy woman lived. Everyone called her Le Grenouille, the frog. Louise and Charlotte feared and hated her. “‘Take off your clothes’, that’s what the Frog said to Louise. “Before obeying, Louise carefully blew out the candle in her lantern, then set it in the corner. “All her clothes were taken off. Everything was searched,—dress, stockings, shoes,—everything. Nothing was found. “‘All right. You may dress and be gone,’ said the Frog. “When Louise had dressed she went on her way. That night our High Commander way across the line in France knew how many Germans had been wounded in that battle.” “Louise, the spy, had told him,” Peggy whispered. “She showed them the paper on which the number had been written,” said Alice. “Where do you think it was hidden?” “In her basket!” Tillie cried. “No.” “In her hair,” Tillie guessed again. “I know!” Peggy jumped up and down. “In her candle!” “Good! That’s right! How did you guess?” Alice’s face shone. “She—” Peggy did not finish. At that instant old Flash leapt from his corner, dashed up to the window which was above his head, and barked angrily. At the same instant Tillie cried: “We do have a spy on our farm! I saw his face in the window! Saw him plain as day!” They all rushed to the kitchen where the others were talking. A few excited words and the boys, with Flash at their heels, were out searching in the night. But for one thing they might have succeeded in making a capture. The moment they stepped outside, the sky was lit by a sudden flash. Then came the roar of an explosion. “They’re at it again,” Young Lord murmured. “Here Flash!” Brand called. “Go find him!” But Flash only whined at his feet. The roar of that distant explosion had paralyzed him. And so, in the end they returned empty handed. “Aunt Alice,” Peggy whispered as she was being tucked in bed, “will you tell us more about those lady spies?” “Sometime perhaps,” was the quiet reply. |
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