The Children of France | Page 4

by and half
buried the child in the wreckage. Remi, bruised and with clothing torn,
dug himself out practically unharmed. He shook his fist in the direction
of the German lines.
"'The Boches!' he breathed, clenching both fists. 'I must have a rifle.
Having none, I am good for nothing.'
"For a few moments he stood observing the stretcher men gathering up
those who had been wounded in the explosion. He did not quail at sight
of the maimed forms before him--he was unafraid, but his childish face
drew down into hard lines that made him look years older. He knew
now that he must join his company and fight for France. After what he

had seen nothing should hold him back. Perhaps once at the front he
might find a gun. Remi tried to enter the communicating trench, but
was stopped by a sentry. He was still undaunted. It was the odor of
cooking that finally led to the solution of his problem. He followed his
nose, as the saying goes, because he was hungry. He found the cooks at
work, as he learned, preparing food to be carried to the men in the
front-line trench. The boy promptly offered his services to help carry in
the food. You see, Remi used his head.
"'What nursery do you belong to?' jeered the mess sergeant.
"'Thirty-first Territorials, Company C,' answered the lad promptly, his
quick reply bringing a laugh in which the mess sergeant joined heartily.
"'All right, take a load of coffee and follow the leader, but if you spill
so much as a drop of it you'll face a firing squad at daybreak.'
"Two heavy containers filled with hot coffee, suspended from a yoke
that fitted over the shoulders, were placed on the lad. The soldiers
expected to see him collapse under the heavy load, but Remi stood up
very straight and awaited the command to go forward. He was stronger
than they thought he was. The journey through the dark trenches was a
long one, made thrilling by the Germans, who were trying to drop
shells into them as the food was coming up to the front line. The 'chow'
carriers, however, arrived safely at Company C's station and Remi had
every drop of coffee that he had started out with.
"'Well, here I am,' he announced loudly. 'Remi wants a gun, he wants it
right away, and then he wants to see a Boche.'
"'You'll see him sooner than you expect if you don't lower your voice,'
rebuked a soldier.
"At that moment a star-shell shot high up into the air and, bursting,
flooded the space between the French and German lines with a brilliant
light. Remi peered over the top of the parapet and across the 'No Man's
Land' of which he had so often heard, over its barbed-wire
entanglements and on to the parapets of the German trenches.

"'Why do they do that?' he questioned.
"'To see if any of our patrols are out there nosing about. You see, we
send out night patrols to find out what the enemy is doing,' he was told.
"'I, too, shall be a night patrol,' declared the lad confidently.
"Unmindful of the desperate chance he was taking, Remi, watching his
opportunity, slipped over the top of the French trench and began
crawling toward the enemy lines. He did not know where the openings
in the wire entanglements were located, but, being small, he was able to
crawl under. Now and then he saw other figures slinking about out
there, but he took good care that they should not see him, and, when
another star shell was fired, he flattened himself on the ground, face
downward, and thus avoided detection. So intent was he, however, in
watching for enemy patrols that he actually bumped into the parapet of
the German trench before he knew it. The boy flattened himself on the
ground and listened. He heard low-toned conversation mingled with
German snores in the trench, and sniffed contemptuously. Raising a
hand to pull himself up to the top of the sandbags, he struck something
sharp. It was the point of a bayonet. Remi's hand crept cautiously along
and the lad barely escaped an exclamation, for here, right in his hand,
was a German rifle aimed toward his own lines, ready to be fired at his
beloved French comrades.
"Cautiously drawing the weapon over the parapet, he caressed it
affectionately, then started to crawl back toward his own lines with his
precious find.
"'At last Remi has a rifle, and none shall take it from him,' he muttered
triumphantly. 'See what I have!' he cried after having been challenged
and hauled into his own trench. 'I took it from the thickheads over there.
I--' He said no more, for his comrades