the convalescents went on improving until, at the end of another week, they were too active to be easily taken care of.
“you’d better look out, bob, or they’ll be putting you back at work,” larry said to bob a few days before alan’s departure.
“there’s something in that,” declared bob thoughtfully.
“no, there isn’t,” said lucy, “for our surgeon said his leg wasn’t strong yet. he can’t walk far. he mustn’t catch cold. he really isn’t well at all.”
larry, alan, bob and general gordon all laughed at this, for bob’s hearty appetite and the warm color returning to his thin cheeks gave little cause for alarm. the conversation took place at dinner one sunday in march, at general gordon’s quarters in coblenz. elizabeth waited at table and gave, to bob and lucy, such a natural and homelike air to the meal that bob could not resist telling her how glad he was to see her there.
elizabeth stopped pouring the coffee into his cup and, forgetting where she was, exclaimed with trembling earnestness, “oh, mr. bob, often now i think—what if you refuse that day to bring me from berlin!”
suddenly realizing her boldness, she checked herself, cast an apologetic glance toward general gordon and slipped noiselessly from the room.
“i wonder at her devotion,” said larry. “where’s that husband of hers, general? has she quite forgotten him?”
“no, but karl was very harsh with her for befriending the allies,” said general gordon. “she feels uncertain of his kindness now, and, after him, we are the friends she most values.”
“quite an honor,” remarked larry.
“it’s a blind sort of devotion, but a very real one,” said general gordon.
“i suppose karl asks nothing better than to make friends with america now,” said bob. “i dare say he’d make up with elizabeth and be glad of the chance. i think he’s still a prisoner, dad, unless he’s been lately exchanged.”
“i don’t care where he is, so long as it’s some distance away,” remarked the general. “by the way, bob, did you know i have cameron here with me? quite like old times.”
“no, is he? well, this is the home sector, as larry said,” cried bob, delighted. “how is the old trump? has he quite recovered?”
“oh, entirely. he’s a true soldier. not even a german prison could down him long.”
“that the fellow you set free, bob?” asked alan. “arthur told me about it. he said he did his best to dissuade you.”
“yes, i was rather a fool,” said bob. “without larry—and lucy—i don’t think i’d have pulled it off.”
“how soon do you cross the channel, alan?” asked general gordon.
“three days from now, cousin james, unless another storm delays sailings.”
“it’s a hard winter. i’m glad you’re out of archangel, bob,” said the general. “i wish all our boys were—or else big reinforcements sent that might accomplish something.”
“that’s the idea, cousin james. enough to smash the bolshies and quit. they seem uncommon strong and pig-headed of late. ask bob the theory he stuffed me with up there. he thinks they have real pig-heads—boche officers—leading them.”
“i shouldn’t wonder. how are you now, alan? foot feel all right?”
“yes, sir. i’m absolutely in the pink. i’d like some work to do, but lucy won’t let me help her at the hospital.”
“yes, i will, if there’s anything you know how to do,” lucy offered. “could you get rid of any energy bottling spring water?”
“might try. better than sitting inside the hospital, staring at the pine trees and trying to coax your little friend to talk to me.”
“don’t you like her?” asked lucy, always eager to hear michelle praised.
“i do. she’s one of the sort that made france able to stick it out to the bitter end. only she’s too old for her age. i’d like to see her laugh oftener.”
“she will, but not quite yet. she’s been through—things.” lucy stopped, suddenly unwilling to talk about the past.
“eaton, you’re going to oxford? i’m glad,” said alan to larry. “we’ll all meet again in england before lucy has time to get much 'homesicker.’ i don’t care if you’ve no mystery to clear up, lucy. come anyway.”
“it’s going to be a great day, alan, when you get home,” said general gordon. “your mother will have all three back again—more than she ever hoped for.”
“yes, and arthur and i about as hale as ever. poor old dad has lost his arm—but it’s his left. we’re in luck. i’m awfully grateful to you, cousin james, for getting me placed here for convalescence. it hasn’t been bad, you know.” alan spoke with more warmth than his words held, looking at the faces around him with the clear, casual glance that hid so much from the average passer-by, yet somehow contrived to win him countless friends. “i’m almost fond of my little slice of german forest,” he added. “lucy, you must let me help you to-morrow and walk through it once more.”
lucy was willing enough and, on the day following, she and alan volunteered to go with the orderly to the spring. the small staff at badheim hospital made it necessary for each member of it to perform a variety of tasks. lucy, far from objecting to the lack of routine, rather liked it, and found her changing duties helped to keep her from feeling the monotony of her hard-working daily life. especially she liked being out-of-doors on these crisp, sunny winter days, when the snow felt dry and firm underfoot and the green pine-boughs shook white flakes on her head when the cold breeze stirred them.
alan was in high spirits at the certainty of seeing england before the week was past. he overflowed with such light-hearted gayety that lucy soon reflected a part of it and, forgetting the forest silence, talked and laughed until the squirrels began chattering above her head and a surprised white rabbit paused in her path and fled into the shadows.
“don’t make me laugh, alan,” she said, as they went on deeper into the woodland. “somehow it always seems out of place here.”
“we’re out of place, if you like,” said alan, refusing to be silenced. “come back home and i’ll show you a real english forest, as beautiful as this, and yet without the gloom. you couldn’t imagine robin hood and his men singing among these trees.”
“no, not a bit. i’ve heard franz sing, but it was deutschland über alles, and that’s not gay.”
“nor true, either. the orderly’s got ahead of us. we’d better hurry.”
they approached the spring, where the soldier had unlocked the bottling apparatus and was already unloading his hand-cart of bottles. the three set to work and in twenty minutes had completed the task. the orderly put things to rights and began trundling off his load while lucy and alan still lingered by the stone basin, watching the clear, bright water, into which the sunbeams twinkled through the forest boughs.
“i wonder where the children are,” said lucy, looking toward the cottage.
“gone wood-cutting with the old man,” alan suggested.
“no, he never takes them along.”
“here he is, i fancy,” said alan, nodding toward the open.
two or three notes of a clear whistle sounded from among the trees at the opposite side of the clearing. alan got up and looked through the pines with sudden curiosity.
“it’s not franz at all,” said lucy, by his side. “it’s herr johann, and i don’t know who else.”
the whistle had been once repeated but, on receiving no answer, the whistler and his companion emerged from the forest and began walking quickly across the snow-covered clearing to franz’ cottage. herr johann was dressed as when lucy had last seen him. his companion looked like a german farmer. he was tall and burly, and wore a thick jacket, woolen mittens, and boots, below patched grey soldier’s trousers. herr johann hammered on the cottage door.
it was presently opened by franz’ wife, who, by shaking her head and pointing toward coblenz, evidently explained that her husband had gone to town with his load of wood. herr johann gesticulated with some vehemence. the woman listened in stolid acquiescence. the second man waited in silence, shuffling his booted feet in the snow. after five minutes’ conversation the two turned away and, recrossing the clearing, disappeared among the trees. franz’ wife stood watching them until they were out of sight.
“lucy, i’m jolly curious to know where they are going,” exclaimed alan. “why shouldn’t we walk in that direction ourselves? i expect we can go where we please in american-occupied territory as well as a couple of sly, whistling boches.”
lucy nodded agreement, willing enough to dog the germans’ footsteps, though she had little idea that they would lead to anything of interest. she and alan began skirting the clearing at a quick walk, keeping just within the last fringe of pine trees. in a few minutes they reached the opposite side and, without much search, came upon the germans’ footsteps in the snow, and, in a moment, heard them talking together as they walked on a dozen yards ahead, an occasional twig cracking beneath their feet.
“don’t let them hear us if you can help it,” said alan, close to her ear. “don’t hide, but be as quiet as you can. i want to learn their direction.”
the germans walked on at a brisk, swinging gait, herr johann talking volubly, his companion answering mostly in monosyllables. they never looked back and seemed oblivious of their stalkers. alan and lucy kept them just in sight, though this became more difficult as the forest grew denser, the pines alternating with low-branching firs and cedars and the broad brown trunks of oaks.
suddenly a narrow woodland road came into view, winding among the trees. herr johann and the other paused to look keenly along it, as far as its windings would permit. then they followed it a short distance, each one taking a different direction. in a moment the man who looked like a farmer gave a low shout and, reappearing in sight, made a gesture that brought herr johann walking quickly toward him. he pointed down the narrow road, and herr johann, giving a nod of satisfaction, sat down on the bulging root of an oak tree and proceeded to fill a pipe. the other stood waiting, leaning against the trunk.
“what do they see?” lucy whispered to alan from behind their shelter of fir-boughs.
“i expect it’s old franz himself,” alan murmured, his face aglow with excited amusement. “i say, lucy, isn’t this simply priceless? what a pity bob isn’t here with one of his theories. i can’t make it out.”
as he spoke a faint creaking of wheels sounded on the road, and in another minute a team composed of a horse and donkey appeared in sight from the direction of badheim and coblenz, drawing franz’ wagon, upon which he himself sat, in front of a slender load made up, so far as lucy and alan could see, mostly of a bale of hay and some cabbages. at sight of the men awaiting him he pulled up with a start, sprang down in front of the tree where herr johann sat, took off his cap, and made his awkward bow.
herr johann spoke too low for alan and lucy to hear the whole of his phrases. something like this was the best that they could catch:
“—keep your word, eh, franz?”
franz plunged into what sounded like apologies, his rough voice also subdued, ending with, “—two hours in coblenz.”
again all that was audible of herr johann’s reply was, “—reach the river?”
franz shook his head dubiously as he said something like, “—harder than ever. and i had to unload it all.”
alan began creeping nearer. lucy caught his arm, whispering sharply, “you mustn’t! they’ll see you.”
alan stopped, nodding agreement. lucy’s heart was beating fast. for the first time she felt a prickling uneasiness and a fear that all this might not be so innocently explained as she had believed. straining her ears, she listened once more.
herr johann pointed to his stolid companion and, as though comparing the two men, said to franz what ended with, “—more than you in a week’s work.—a whole month?”
franz shook his head in eager denial and, dropping on one knee before herr johann, he poured out explanations or assurances of which neither lucy nor alan could hear enough to piece one sentence together.
after listening a few minutes herr johann got up, knocked his pipe against the tree, waved his hand as though to say that words meant little to him, then, as if relenting, he clapped franz on the shoulder and gave him a short, friendly nod. franz’ harsh, sour face eagerly watched the other, drinking in these signs of reconciliation. herr johann, without more words, started off across the road with his companion beside him and the two disappeared in the forest.
franz stood a full minute looking after them, motionless, his cap still twisted in his lean hands. then slowly he remounted his wagon, spoke to his team and passed out of sight along the winding road.
alan and lucy looked at each other, stirred their cold, cramped limbs and set off in the general direction of the hospital. the short afternoon was fading into twilight and a bleak wind swept the forest branches.
“what on earth is it all about, alan?” lucy demanded, and her voice held nothing of alan’s joyous excitement at the mysterious rendezvous, but only anger and anxiety. “it can’t be anything, anything that we need fear.”
“fear—no. but i expect it ought to be looked into. if three boches come together at sound of a whistle and confer in the depths of the forest it isn’t for the sake of upholding the entente, nor the star-spangled banner.”
“but it might be for the sake of getting around the food restrictions. father has caught them at that,” said lucy, desperately unwilling to be alarmed at the fragmentary conversation to which they had just listened.
“yes, it might be that. in fact it’s likely enough,” assented alan. “if i’d had another fellow with me instead of you we might have confronted them then and there and demanded an explanation.”
“oh, but—then we’d never have found out anything,” protested lucy. “don’t you think herr johann has some good story ready to tell?”
“perhaps. but i like settling things. never could wait to puzzle a matter out. let’s run, lucy. aren’t you frozen?”
“rather,” said lucy, still thoughtful.
they fell into a jog-trot, for it was hard to run fast among the thickly-planted trees. alan said in a moment, as though thinking aloud:
“he was certainly taking orders. but orders for what? an uprising? not likely.”
“oh, alan, perhaps franz is an old servant of herr johann’s. maybe he has charge of some property for him,” lucy suggested, vaguely enough, in spite of her insistence.
“i thought you said he had been an alsatian farmer,” objected alan. “oh, well, perhaps we’re making a fuss about nothing.”
in half an hour they were again skirting the cottage clearing. franz had reached home and was engaged in unharnessing his team and putting wagon and animals into the shed behind the cottage.
“too bad the donkey can’t tell us where it’s been,” said alan, as a loud bray broke the stillness. he and lucy paused a moment to watch the wood-cutter’s simple occupation.
adelheid and wilhelm were standing beside their father, wilhelm with the donkey’s halter-rope in his hand. franz cast a sharp glance toward the fringe of pines behind which lucy and alan stood. then he spoke to adelheid, who immediately looked in the same direction, then ran across the clearing and straight through the trees to lucy’s side.
“guten tag, fr?ulein,” she panted, smiling her beaming smile, which lucy hardly echoed in her bewildered surprise. “papachen saw you here, and he asks if you and the herr officer will not come and warm yourselves in our cottage. it is growing cold.”
lucy, unwilling enough, looked at alan. he stared at adelheid, then across the clearing at franz, who stood on the cottage threshold, one hand on the latch, looking inquiringly toward them.
“this is a rum go,” alan said at last. “wonder when he saw us. shall we go, lucy? it seems to be our move.”
lucy spoke to adelheid. “i don’t think we’d better stop now, thank you very much. it’s rather late.”
“please, fr?ulein!” the child begged, her face suddenly clouded with disappointment. “papachen invites you.” she repeated this as though to impress on lucy the importance of such rare hospitality, and added, “you need only stop to warm yourselves. it is not yet dark.” she pulled gently at lucy’s hand.
not finding a new argument, lucy slowly followed her into the clearing, glancing doubtfully at alan for guidance.
“all right. let’s go for a moment. i’d like to see his face now. no boche can successfully hide all his thoughts.”
“perhaps not,” answered lucy uncomfortably. “but the trouble is, i can’t either.”
she hardly met franz’ eyes when the german opened the door for them, with his awkward bow and sour smile. to hide her face she bent over little wilhelm and pulled up the ragged stockings falling down his cold, bare legs.
“how did you happen to see us, franz?” inquired alan, as nearly as his wretched german would permit. alan’s verbs were always in the wrong place.
franz puzzled for a second over the twisted phrase. lucy wished alan would not ask questions. as they entered the cottage franz answered readily enough:
“i saw you and the fr?ulein passing along by the clearing, and as you walked fast and seemed cold i sent the little one to ask you to warm yourselves by my fire. the fr?ulein is very good to us. trudchen!” he shouted, opening the door into the second room of the cottage.
whatever alan might decipher from franz’ expression, lucy did not get very far in reading it. he looked to her sombre, morose and unfriendly as ever, all his politeness no more than what his situation forced upon him. if his sharp eyes seemed to gleam with suspicious watchfulness she fancied that her own disturbed imagination put it there.
alan, however, kept looking at franz in critical silence, as the german pulled up stools before the fire and threw on pine boughs until the flame leaped up, all the while casting quick glances at his visitors and muttering short phrases of would-be civility, such as, “there, it burns. draw up, now. the wife will come presently.”
trudchen had answered in her dull, tired voice from the bedroom beyond, but she did not at once appear, but continued to drag her slippered feet back and forth across the floor. lucy felt very uneasy, for she saw that alan was in one of his moods of careless imprudence, which, when his thoughtless words or actions led to success, had won him fame and medals, and, when they brought him near disaster, had caused arthur leslie to frown over “that silly ass.”
now, forgetting everything but his curiosity, and negligently contemptuous of franz’ feelings, he asked casually enough, standing beside the fire, while lucy lifted adelheid to her knees:
“been to coblenz, franz? selling wood in the city?”
franz hesitated, really puzzled, lucy fancied, by alan’s german, but after a little pause he answered, “yes, herr officer. i go there almost every day with my fagots.”
“into the city, eh? or to the rhine?” alan asked this quite meaninglessly, echoing franz’ words of half an hour back, but the german’s eyes lighted with something like alarm as he said haltingly:
“the rhine? why should i go there? what does the herr mean? the road winds along the moselle, but, once in the city, i sell my goods and return.”
“through the forest? ever meet anyone there?”
“alan, please don’t,” lucy murmured.
franz stared at the britisher, his face set in a look of stolid obstinacy. his lips parted and he moved his head to frame a denial, but before it was spoken he checked himself, forced a pale smile, leaned down to stir the fire, or to compose his countenance, and rising again spoke coolly enough:
“why, yes, herr officer. i suppose you mean the gentleman who comes here sometimes? he is a herr who often hunts in this forest, and, as i served under him, he sometimes honors me by a little notice.”
as he finished this commonplace account the german faced alan with a kind of dumb defiance, as though inwardly he added, “there! what have you got to object to in that?”
alan, totally unmoved, went on in the same tone of careless inquiry, which, in spite of its low-voiced resemblance to ordinary conversation, would have told any listener that he did not believe a word franz had said:
“that’s very good of him. not much hunting around here now, i suppose, so he looks you up often?”
again franz paused before replying and again lucy wondered if alan’s german honestly puzzled him. but now the woodcutter listened intently, as though he dared not lose one of the britisher’s words nor fail to answer:
“yes, mein herr. he comes here sometimes, not so often. i met him in the woods to-day.” this last was spoken with an air of conscious candor, as though alan must now see that he concealed nothing. “as for the hunting, there are rabbits, and a few birds. the gentleman has simple tastes.”
“what, the chance of potting rabbits keeps him wandering through these woods day after day? as well tell me he’s fallen in love with adelheid,” exclaimed alan, staring into the german’s face with open disbelief.
franz now showed signs of great uneasiness. his lips were pressed together in a sort of angry bewilderment. whether it was in real alarm or merely that he was obliged to suppress his ill-humor lucy was uncertain, but she could not endure to sit there any longer and said to alan with vehemence, “let’s go.”
she put adelheid off her knees and rose just as trudchen shuffled into the room, wrapped as usual in a ragged shawl over her cotton dress, her hair in flaxen wisps, her face tired, troubled and red-eyed from recent tears.
“good-day, gn?dige fr?ulein,” she said, smiling faintly at lucy, and giving alan a short curtsey. “forgive me for delaying. i have my friedrich sick and i was putting him in bed.”
“i’m sorry. what can i do?” asked lucy, forgetting franz.
“nothing, i thank you. he needs only to be warm and quiet. will you not sit down?”
“no, we’re just going. we came in for a moment to warm ourselves. it’s getting late, so we must hurry.” lucy smiled at adelheid and patted her shoulder, feeling sorry and uncomfortable. “promise to let me know, frau, if friedrich is worse?”
“yes, many thanks,” nodded trudchen, following lucy and alan to the door, franz silently bringing up the rear.
once outside the cottage and walking fast across the twilit clearing, lucy poured out upon alan a flood of reproaches. “i don’t think you should have talked so, alan. he offered us hospitality and it was no time to ask questions. if he is innocent you were wrong to insult him.”
when alan could get in a word he said, glancing with some amusement at lucy’s disapproving face, “look at it from another point of view, lucy, before you go for me like that. if he is innocent i didn’t insult him, for my questions could hold no offense. if he is guilty his villainy—whatever on earth it is—deserves to be ferreted out, even at the cost of making him burn a few extra pine logs or of hurting his wife’s feelings. which is more important, that peace should not be delayed, or that franz should not be offended?”
“oh, alan, how could he delay peace? what an imagination you have!” cried lucy, exasperated.
“right-o. if he has no bad intentions then i didn’t offend him. so what’s the row?”
“it’s impossible to argue with you,” declared lucy, silenced against her will.
once in the hospital she described all the afternoon’s events to bob. when she finished with an account of alan’s questions to franz, to her satisfaction bob promptly agreed with her that alan had acted wrongly. however, she learned at her brother’s first words that he did not actually share her own view.
“i think you should have held your tongue, alan,” he told the britisher, staring out, as he spoke, from the hospital window into the shadowy forest. “i’d go any lengths to get the truth out of franz, but what you did was to rouse his suspicions and discover nothing that will help us at all.”
“his suspicions were already aroused,” alan protested. “otherwise why did he spy on us and invite us in with such false civility?”
“perhaps he only saw you at the edge of the clearing and, not being sure how far you had wandered in the forest, thought he would make friendly advances and be on the safe side.”
“to regain our confidence, you mean, in case we had seen him confabing with his gentleman hunter? what a german idea! how dull he must think us.”
“if you’d been a little sharper you’d have said nothing,” bob grumbled. “you’ve put him on guard against us.”
“no, i haven’t, he was there before. if i were you i’d insist on learning the truth at once. he can’t hold out against you. they’ve primed him with plausible answers up to a certain point. beyond that he’s muddle-headed and would blurt out anything. why remain in doubt?”
“perhaps you’re right,” bob admitted after a pause. “it is rather silly to let him bother us. but somehow i don’t think it will be easy to find out his secret, whether it’s an innocent or a guilty one. his master has a hard hand, i imagine, when his servants fail him.”
“gammon!” scoffed alan. “why, i wormed some of it out of him this afternoon in five minutes. i’d have got it all if it hadn’t been for lucy’s pleading glances. don’t come to england and tell me you never found out what he’s up to, or i’ll say i’m not the only silly ass in the family.”
