第 25 页

thought that he might be wounded, or taken prisoner, made her very

pitiful to the young officers.

Ralph Barclay had--for some days--been intending to sound her as to

her willingness to aid them when she, herself, began it one day.

She had cleared away their dinner, and was standing--as she often

did--talking with them, when she lowered her voice, so as not to be

overheard by her mother in the next room:

"I wonder you don't try to get away. Lots of French officers have

done so."

"That is just what we are thinking of, Christine. We have only been

waiting till my arm was out of a sling, and we want you to help

us."

"How can I help you?" the girl asked.

"In the first place, you can buy us clothes. It would excite

suspicion if we were to buy them, ourselves. Percy and I were

thinking of going as girls--not pretty girls, of course, like you,

Christine--but great, rough peasant girls."

Christine laughed, and colored

"You would be too tall," she said.

"We should be rather tall," Ralph said, ruefully. "We have grown so

horribly, in the last few months. Still, some women are as tall as

we are."

"Yes, some women are," Christine said, "but men look after them and

say, 'What big, gawky women!' and you don't want to be looked

after. If people did so, they would see that you didn't walk one

bit like a woman, and that your shoulders were very wide, and your

arms very strong, and--

"Oh no! It wouldn't do at all. I must think it over.

"I suppose you want that great blue-coated bear to go?" and she

nodded at Tim Doyle who--not being able to speak a word of her

language--was always indulging in the most absurd pantomime of love

and devotion; causing screams of laughter to the merry German girl.

"Yes, Tim must go too, Christine."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the girl. "Fancy him as a woman."

"What is she saying about me, Mister Percy?"

"She says you would make a very pretty woman, Tim."

"Tare and ages, Mister Percy," Tim said, taking it quite seriously,

"how could I do it, at all? I'd have to shave off all my beautiful

beard and mustaches and, even then, I doubt if you would mistake me

for a woman."

The boys screamed with laughter, and translated the Irishman's

speech to Christine; who laughed so that her mother came into the

room.

"Look here, children," she said, smiling, "I don't want to know

what you are talking about. If anything of any sort happens, I may

be asked questions; and I don't want to have to tell stories. I

can't help hearing, if you leave the door open, and laugh

so--indeed, all the neighborhood might hear it; so please shut the

door, in future."

So saying, she again went back to her work in the next room.

"Goodbye, I'm going, too," Christine said. "I will think it over,

by tomorrow morning, and tell you what you are to do."

The next morning, the boys were very anxious to hear Christine's

proposals; for although they had quite made up their minds to try

their own plan, if hers was not feasible, still they felt that,

with her knowledge of the country, she was likely, at any rate, to

give them good advice.

Until she had cleared away breakfast, Christine said nothing. Then

she took out her knitting, and sat against the window.

"Now," she began, "I will tell you what I have thought of. It would

be easy enough, if it was not for him. He's so big, and so red, and

he doesn't speak German.

"Oh dear, he's very tiresome!" and she shook her head at Tim; who

smiled, laid his hand on his breast, and endeavored to look

affecting.

Christine laughed.

"The only thing I can think of, for him, is that he shall go out as

a Jew peddler; with one of their broad hats, and a tray of little

trinkets. He might pass, if none of the soldiers took it into their

heads to buy."

The proposition was translated to Tim Doyle.

"Is it me, your honor--me, Tim Doyle, a good Catholic, and come of

honest people--that's to turn myself into a haythin Jew?" the

Irishman burst out, with great indignation. "It was bad enough that

I should be made into a woman, but a haythin Jew! I put it to your

honors, it's nayther sinsible nor dacent."

The boys went off in screams of laughter. Christine laughed for a

moment, too, when they translated Tim's speech to her; and then

looked indignant that the proposition, which had cost her so much

thought, should be so scornfully rejected.

Tim saw the look, and at once went on, persuasively:

"Sure now, darlint Miss Christine, don't be angry wid me, out of

your bright blue eyes! But is it raisonable--is it natural to ask a

Christian man to make a haythin Jew of himself? Would you like it,

yourself?"

When the boys could stop laughing, they translated Tim's appeal.

"Did you ever see such an absurd man?" she said, laughing. "As if

it could make any difference to his religion. Tell him I am a good

Catholic, too, but I should not mind dressing up as a Jewess."

"Sure, thin, darlint," Tim exclaimed, when her speech was

translated, "I will go as a Jew, directly, if you'll go with me and

be my Jewess."

Christine laughed, blushed, shook her head and said, "Nonsense!"

upon hearing Tim's proposition.

"But seriously, Christine," Ralph said, "the objection which you

mention to the Jew pedlar's disguise is important. Full as the

streets are of soldiers looking about, he could hardly hope to go

from here through the streets, and out at the gate, without someone

asking him about the contents of his box."

Christine allowed--a little pettishly, at the failure of her

plan--that it certainly was likely.

"The real difficulty is to get outside the gate," Ralph said,

thoughtfully. "After that, I should have no fear."

"What are you thinking of doing, then?" Christine asked.

"I was thinking of dressing Percy, and myself, in the clothes of

young peasants; and putting Tim into something of the same sort,

with a great bandage round his face. Then I should say that we were

two lads, from some place near the frontier, who had come here to

meet our uncle; who had had his jaw shattered, in battle. That

would explain Tim's not being able to talk at all; and as to looks,

he is red enough for a German, anywhere."

"Yes," Christine said, "that would do, very well; but of course,

you would be liable to be asked for papers."

"Of course," Ralph said, "but we must risk something."

"I have an idea," Christine said, suddenly, clapping her hands. "I

have some cousins living at Wiesbaden. These are three boys, and I

am sure they would do anything for me. I will go out to Wiesbaden,

tomorrow, and ask them to lend me their papers, just for one day.

Wiesbaden is not your way, at all; but for that very reason you

would get out more easily there, and be less likely to be

suspected, or followed. You could cross the Rhine somewhere near

Saint Goar.

"I shall have to tell some sad stories to my cousins, and coax them

a great deal. Still, I daresay I shall succeed; and then you can go

boldly across the bridge, and into the railway station, and take a

ticket for Wiesbaden. You can have an envelope, ready directed, and

put the papers into the post there."

"The very thing, Christine. You are a darling!" Ralph exclaimed,

catching her by the waist and kissing her, before she had time to

think of resistance.

"I shan't do anything at all for you," Christine said, laughing and

blushing, "if you misbehave in that way."

"I couldn't help it, Christine--not even if your mother had been

looking on.

"And now, about our clothes."

"I couldn't buy them," Christine said. "I never could go into a

shop and buy men's clothes."

The thing was so evident that, for a moment, the boys' looks fell.

Then Christine said, coloring very much:

"There is a box, in my room, of Karl's things. He is my cousin, you

know; and he was working as a gardener, here, till he had to go out

in the Landwehr--so, of course, he left his things here, for us to

take care of. He is about your size. I will take out one suit--it

won't hurt it--and you can put it on, and go out into the town, and

buy the things for all three of you."

"Capital!" the boys exclaimed. "It couldn't be better."

Ten minutes afterwards, Ralph went down the stairs and out into the

street, dressed as a German laborer in his best suit. He was a

little uneasy, at first; but no one noticed him, and he was soon in

a shop, haggling over the price of a peasant's coat--as if the

matter of a thaler, one way or other, was a thing of vital

importance to him. He bought the three suits at three different

shops--as he thought that it would look suspicious, if he were to

get them all at the same--and in an hour was back again. An hour

afterwards, Christine started for Wiesbaden.

The Barclays had reason to congratulate themselves that they had

not longer deferred their preparations for escape; for when

presenting themselves, as usual, that afternoon at the roll call,

they were told that they must hold themselves in readiness to leave

for one of the eastern fortresses, upon the following evening; as

another large batch of prisoners, from Metz, was expected to arrive

upon the following day.

In the evening, Christine returned from Wiesbaden; which is distant

only a quarter of an hour, by rail, from Mayence.

"I have got them," she said, "but if you only knew the trouble I

have had! What a bother boys are, to be sure!"

"Especially cousins--eh, Christine?"

"Especially cousins," Christine said, demurely.

After thanking her very warmly for her kindness, the Barclays

started out, and bought a variety of things which they thought

might be useful. They also bought a pretty gold watch and chain, to

give to Christine as a parting present.

The next morning they answered, as usual, to their early roll call;

and then, returning at once to their lodgings, changed their

clothes for those which Ralph had purchased. It was agreed that

they should not say goodbye to Christine's mother; in order that,

whatever she might suspect, she might be able to say that she knew

nothing of any idea, on the part of her lodgers, to make their

escape. Then Christine herself came in, to say goodbye; and went

half wild with delight, at the present. Then she said goodbye,

kissed the boys--without any affectation of objecting to it--and

then went to a window, to watch if they went safely down the

street.

The boys had no uneasiness, whatever, upon their own account--for

they had before passed so easily, among the Prussian troops, that

they felt quite confident in their disguise--but they were

uncomfortable as to Tim, whose inability to answer questions would

have at once betrayed them, had anyone addressed him. They had not

ventured to bandage up his face, as if wounded; as he would have

naturally, in that case, had a military pass. As the best thing

they could think of, they had shoved a large lump of cotton into

one of his cheeks--which gave him the appearance of having a

swelled face--and had instructed him to frequently put his hand up

to it, as if in great pain. Tim had plenty of shrewdness, and acted

his part admirably.

They passed across the bridge of boats, without question; and into

the railway station, which is just opposite its end. Here soldiers

and other officials swarmed; but the three walked along carelessly,

the two boys chatting together in German, Tim walking with his hand

up to his face, and giving an occasional stamp of pain. He sat down

with Percy on a seat in the station, while Ralph went to the little

window where tickets were being delivered. There were a good many

people waiting and, when it came to Ralph's turn, and he put the

papers in at the window, and asked for three third-class tickets to

Wiesbaden, the clerk scarcely glanced at them; but handed the

tickets over, without a question.

They then went into the third-class waiting room, and sat down.

There were a good many peasants, and others there; and when the

doors opened for them to go on to the platform, and enter the

carriages, they saw it was hopeless to try and get a carriage to

themselves. They did, therefore, the best they could; putting Tim

next to the window, while Percy sat next to, and Ralph opposite to

him. The rest of the compartment was filled with country people.

"He seems in great pain," a good-natured peasant woman said, to

Ralph; as Tim rocked himself backwards and forwards, in his

anguish.

"Yes, he is very bad," Ralph said.

"Toothache?" asked the woman.

"Worse than that," Ralph said, gravely, "an abscess in the jaw. He

has just been to the hospital."

"Poor fellow!" the woman said. "Why does he not poultice it?

"I should advise you to poultice," she said, addressing Tim.

Tim gave a grunt--which might have meant anything--and Ralph said,

in a whisper:

"Don't talk to him. Poor uncle, he is so bad tempered, now, it puts

him in a rage if anyone speaks to him; because it hurts him so, to

answer. At ordinary times, he is very good tempered; but now, oh!"

and Ralph made a little pantomime, to express the extreme badness

of Tim's temper.

"You are not of Wiesbaden, are you?" the woman asked. "I do not

know you by sight."

"No," Ralph said; "we are from Holzhausen, a village some eight

miles upon the other side of Wiesbaden."

"Ah!" the woman said, "I have a sister living there; surely you