Tom Slade with the Boys Over There | Page 3

I that killed him."
"This is a silly child," said old Pierre.
"America is full of Prussians--spies," said the girl, "and they have his name on a list. They have killed him. They are murderers!"
"Sh-h-h," warned her mother again.
"Yes, they are murderers," said old Pierre, "but this is a silly child to talk so. We have borne much silently. Can we not be a little patient now?"
"I hate them!" sobbed the girl, abandoning all caution. "They drove him away and we will see him no more,--my brother--Armand!"
"Hush, my daughter," her mother pleaded. "Listen! I heard a footstep. They are spying and have heard."
For a moment neither spoke and there was no sound but the girl's quick breaths as she tried to control herself. Then there was a slight rustling in the shrubbery and they waited in breathless suspense.
"I knew it," whispered Madame; "we are always watched. Now it has come."
Still they waited, fearfully. Another sound, and old Pierre rose, pushed his rustic chair from him and stood with a fine, soldierly air, waiting. His wife was trembling pitiably and Florette, her eyes wide with grief and terror, watched the dark bushes like a frightened animal.
Suddenly the leaves parted and they saw a strange disheveled figure. For a moment it paused, uncertain, then looked stealthily about and emerged into the open. The stranger was hatless and barefoot and his whole appearance was that of exhaustion and fright. When he spoke it was in a strange language and spasmodically as if he had been running hard.
"Leteur?" he asked, looking from one to the other; "the name--Leteur? I can't speak French," he added, somewhat bewildered and clutching an upright of the arbor.
"What do you wish here?" old Pierre demanded in French, never relaxing his military air.
The stranger leaned wearily against the arbor, panting, and even in the dusk they could see that he was young and very ragged, and with the whiteness of fear and apprehension in his face and his staring eyes.
"You German? French?" he panted.
"We are French," said Florette, rising. "I can speak ze Anglaise a leetle."
"You are not German?" the visitor repeated as if relieved.
"Only we are Zherman subjects, yess. Our name ees Leteur."
"I am--American. My name--is Tom Slade. I escaped from the prison across there. My--my pal escaped with me----"
The girl looked pityingly at him and shook her head while her parents listened curiously. "We are sorry," she said, "so sorry; but you were not wise to escape. We cannot shelter you. We are suspect already."
"I have brought you news of Armand," said Tom. "I can't--can't talk. We ran----Here, take this. He--he gave it to me--on the ship."
He handed Florette a little iron button, which she took with a trembling hand, watching him as he clutched the arbor post.
"From Armand? You know heem?" she asked, amazed. "You are American?"
"He's American, too," said Tom, "and he's with General Pershing in France. We're goin' to join him if you'll help us."
For a moment the girl stared straight at him, then turning to her father she poured out such a volley of French as would have staggered the grim authorities of poor Alsace. What she said the fugitive could not imagine, but presently old Pierre stepped forward and, throwing his one arm about the neck of the young American, kissed him several times with great fervor.
Tom Slade was not used to being kissed by anybody and he was greatly abashed. However, it might have been worse. What would he ever have done if the girl who spoke English in such a hesitating, pretty way had taken it into her head to kiss him?
CHAPTER III
TOM'S STORY
"You needn't be afraid," said Tom; "we didn't leave any tracks; we came across the fields--all the way from the crossroads down there. We crawled along the fence. There ain't any tracks. I looked out for that."
Pausing in suspense, yet encouraged by their expectant silence, he spoke to some one behind him in the bushes and there emerged a young fellow quite as ragged as himself.
"It's all right," said Tom confidently, and apparently in great relief. "It's them."
"You must come inside ze house," whispered Florette fearfully. "It is not safe to talk here."
"There isn't any one following us," said Tom's companion reassuringly. "If we can just get some old clothes and some grub we'll be all right."
"Zere is much danger," said the girl, unconvinced. "We are always watched. But you are friends to Armand. We must help you."
She led the way into the house and into a simply furnished room lighted by a single lamp and as she cautiously shut the heavy wooden blinds and lowered the light, the two fugitives looked eagerly at the first signs of home life which they had seen in many a long day.
It was in vain that the two Americans declined the wine which