During the afternoon of the same day that Don Hale was destined to have
his great adventures George Glenn and Bobby Dunlap, off duty, decided to
take a little jaunt about the surrounding country.
Leaving the main highway the boys struck off toward the southeast.
The road sometimes took them past stuccoed walls, gray, chipped and
broken by the ravages of time; and here and there, rising high above the
faded red coping, were the tall and graceful poplars so characteristic
of the landscapes. Once in a while, the two, their youthful curiosity
aroused, peeped between the bars of the entrance gates to get a look, if
they could, at the mansion so secluded from public gaze.
Presently the boys were descending a steep road which led down to a
little village at the base. Occasionally, between the trees, they caught
glimpses of red-roofed houses, and the spire of an ancient church, all
serenely beautiful in the midst of a peaceful landscape.
Now George and Bobby came across _poilus_ resting on either side of the
highway. And then, to bring the grimness of warfare once more to their
minds, a Red Cross ambulance, leaving behind it a long trail of
yellowish dust, rumbled up the hill, carrying its load of wounded to the
base hospital further to the rear.
Arriving at the bottom of the incline the two found themselves on a road
which turned abruptly. Soldiers were billeted in the village; and in the
courtyards and out on the streets were rolling kitchens, while parked at
various points they saw huge camions awaiting their turn to carry
supplies toward the front. Evidently but few of the inhabitants
remained; and the reason was at once apparent—there was scarcely a
house which did not show some evidence of scorching shell fire or the
devastation caused by bombs dropped from the air.
George and Bobby soon passed the quaint old church, no longer a place of
worship but a hospital, and continued on, soon leaving behind them the
village, with its soldiers, camions and other paraphernalia of war.
“Now let’s take a rest,” suggested Bobby, at length.
“You’ll not hear any objections from me,” said George. He turned his
gaze toward the east, adding: “I hope to goodness Don doesn’t run into
trouble over the front to-day.”
“I’m with you there, Georgie,” said Peur Jamais, gravely. “I never saw
such impolite fellows as those Boches. Just the other day one of them
chased me for miles, and all I did was to empty a belt of cartridges in
his direction. Honestly, I believe he wanted to hurt me.”
“I guess you’re about right,” laughed George.
“Hello! just cast your eyes along the road. But do it gently, though, so
as not to hurt them. Do you see that chap yonder—about to cross?”
“My vision being extremely good, I can.”
“Don’t you see anything familiar about him?”
George, after taking a long and earnest look at the blue bloused figure,
nodded his head.
“Yes; to be sure. It’s the peasant who’s been visiting our escadrille.”
“Correct, old chap. And say, did you ever notice how chummy he’s gotten
to be with Jason Hamlin? Funny combination, that—a college highbrow and
an humble, downtrodden tiller of the soil. By the way, Vicky Gilbert
certainly has said some funny things to Jasy.”
“Have you found out yet what the scrap is all about?”
Peur Jamais pondered an instant before replying, and then said, slowly:
“From what Vicky said it looks as if he thought Hamlin was, or rather
wasn’t—— No, that he was, I should say——” And here the young combat
pilot broke off abruptly, to further remark, after a few moments of
earnest reflection: “No—I reckon I’d better wait until further
developments. One day I happened to say a few words to one of the chaps
about it when along waltzed the captain, who had overheard; and he said
to me: ‘What do you mean?’ Crickets! It was awful!” Bobby began to grin
broadly. “It reminded me of the time I used to get hauled up in the
principal’s room to explain certain things that had happened in the
classroom. But, I say; let’s skip after the old boy, and interview him.”
“What’s the good?” asked George.
“None at all. But what’s the good of staying here? Coming?”
“First tell me what the captain said.”
“‘No!—a thousand times no!’ as the persecuted heroine in the play has
it. Later on—perhaps. Just now my sole desire in life is to inflict
some of my French upon the humble plodder.”
Without further ado, Peur Jamais started off and George, with a
good-humored smile, followed.
It took the boys but a few moments to reach the road where the peasant
had been observed; but although he had been walking very slowly the man
was not in sight. The road was as deserted as a road could be.
“Hello! That’s rather odd!” cried Peur Jamais. “A shabby way to treat a
couple of would-be interviewers, I call it. In classic language, I
wonder where he’s at!”
“That oughtn’t to be a hard job for Sherlock Holmes the Second to find
out,” suggested George.
Bobby laughed and began studying the surroundings with keen attention.
In the fields were growing crops, all bathed in bright, clear sunshine.
Little clumps of trees and patches of woods dotted the landscape, while,
far off, the irregular contour of the hills limned itself with hazy
indistinctness against the brilliant sky. To the left a touch of blue,
like a bold splash of paint upon canvas, indicated a pond, and nearer at
hand rose three sturdy oaks, majestic specimens of their kind. Just
behind these Peur Jamais espied a house.
“I shouldn’t wonder a bit if that’s the peasant’s castle,” he remarked.
“Suppose we journey over there, Georgie, and see! I declare! I won’t be
satisfied until I learn a bit more about him. It’s a little odd that
such an uncouth specimen should take so much interest in an aviation
camp.”
“Mild adventures, after our strenuous ones, have a sort of appeal to
me,” confessed George. “So I’m quite willing.”
Following the road for a short distance the boys found a narrow path
leading across the field; so they headed for the ancient oaks and the
house behind them.
They had expected to see some evidences of farming, some indications of
laborers in the fields beyond, but on arriving at the structure, a
typical old farmhouse, everything wore a mournful and deserted air, as
though all human activity and endeavor had long ago departed, leaving
the building to crumble and decay.
“It seems that we’ve had all our pleasure for nothing,” grumbled Peur
Jamais. “Nobody can be living in this old shack. But as a deserted house
is anybody’s home, I’m going in.”
“I’ll share the danger with you,” laughed George.
The door stood invitingly ajar, and one vigorous push sent it creaking
back on a pair of rusty hinges.
All the dreary and forlorn appearance which marked the exterior of the
ancient farmhouse was to be met with in the interior. Dust lay thick on
the floors, and a few pieces of broken-down furniture added their quota
to the depressing atmosphere.
“This place is enough to give a fellow the creeps!” declared Bobby.
“Just imagine how nice it would be strolling around here on a stormy
midnight, with lightning the only illumination. Hello!—goodness
gracious!”
A very unexpected interruption had caused Peur Jamais to utter the
exclamation.
Quick footsteps had sounded. And, as both boys, a little startled, but
more surprised, hastily glanced at an open doorway leading to another
room, they saw a blue-bloused figure suddenly appear.
It was the peasant for whom they had been seeking.