"Your houses!" cried Pierre, so surprised that he quite forgot his manners. "But, Madame, it is not possible that you carry your houses with you like the snails?"

The Doctor laughed. "Not just like the snails," she said; "our houses have been sent on ahead of us in sections, with the army supplies, and are no doubt here in the care of the Commandant."

"Go, my Pierre, conduct them to the camp," said his Mother, "and when you come back," she added, turning to the two women, "I will have ready for you the best that my poor house affords." The Doctor and Mademoiselle thanked Mother Meraut, and then, following Pierre, started down the river road toward the camp a mile or more away.

The next few days seemed to Pierre and Pierrette, and indeed to all the inhabitants of Fontanelle, little less than a series of miracles. In the first place, the Doctor and Mademoiselle had scarcely finished the good lunch which Mother Meraut had waiting for them on their return from camp, when a great truck, loaded with sections of the portable houses, entered the great gate of the Chateau. It was followed by a detachment of soldiers from the Foreign Legion, sent by the Commandant to erect them. The soldiers were also Americans, and Pierre and Pierrette were delighted to find that both "Jim" and "Uncle Sam" were among them. Indeed Uncle Sam was in command of the squad, and when he presented himself and his men to the Doctor and Mademoiselle, he explained that the Commandant had detailed Americans to this duty, as he thought that they would more easily understand what the ladies wished to have done.

The whole place now swarmed with people working as busily as bees in a hive. By night one house was fit to be occupied. The following night two more had been erected, and the soldiers had laid tent floors in all of them. The day after that six more young women in gray came, bringing more supplies. Under the generalship of the Doctor, Mother Meraut was installed in the carriage-house which opened from the stable, and here she prepared meals for her family and for all the new-comers as well. The Doctor established a dispensary in one room of the Chateau, and Mademoiselle opened a store in the basement, keeping there for sale a large quantity of the supplies which had been brought by the six young women. Father Meraut and Grandpere worked hard on the gardens, assisted by Pierre and Pierrette and any other person in the village who was capable of wielding a hoe. Soon people began to come in from the neighboring hamlets, bringing their sick babies to the Doctor for treatment. The great truck was loaded with supplies received through the Army Service and the Red Cross, and the young women took turns in driving the "Shop on Wheels" into other, less favored districts, to start there work similar to that begun at Fontanelle.

Uncle Sam and Jim came so often to the village that they were soon on friendly terms with every one in it. They acted as emissaries between the camp and the village, and if anything was needed which was beyond the power of these determined women to supply, Uncle Sam and Jim seemed always by some miracle to accomplish it. One day the Doctor said to Jim "I wish there were some way of getting a good cow here. These little children cannot get rosy and strong without fresh milk, and they haven't had any since the Germans drove away their cows."

A week later Jim appeared at the Chateau gate leading a cow! There was a card tied to one horn. The Doctor removed it and read, "To Dr. Miller for the little children of Fontanelle."

"It's from the Commandant," said Jim, beaming with pride.

The cow proved such a success, and the babies and young children showed at once such improvement, that the Doctor determined that they should have not only milk but fresh eggs, and Mademoiselle was sent to Paris to make investigations, and, if possible, place an order for more cows and some hens. Upon her return she announced that a load of live-stock from southern France would soon arrive at the nearest railroad station, five miles away.

"It's going to be a regular menagerie," said Mademoiselle, when she told Mother Meraut about it. "There will be two more cows, two pigs, a pair of goats, ten pairs of rabbits, and sixty fowls."

"Mercy upon us!" cried Mother Meraut. "Where in the world can we put them all? Must we move out of our apartment to admit the cows?"

"No," laughed Mademoiselle, "we must find another way to take care of them. The cows can stay out of doors now, and there is grass to feed them and the goats. They can all be tethered by ropes, if necessary, but we must find a secure place to keep the pigs and the rabbits, and the chicken-house must be mended and put in order for the fowls."

"But Madame Corbeille now resides in the chicken-house. What will become of her and her children?" cried Mother Meraut.

"Easy enough," said Mademoiselle; "there is still room in your stable, is there not? For example, there is the granary! It will do excellently for the Corbeilles. Pierre and Pierrette will help build the rabbit-hutch, I know, and there we are, all provided for!"

So it was arranged, and that afternoon another family came to live under the same roof with the Merauts. Grandpere, with his new hammer and some nails, mended the chicken-house, and then helped Pierre and Pierrette build enclosures for the rabbits and pigs out of stones and rubble from the fallen walls.

At last the day came when all the creatures were to arrive, and Mademoiselle arranged that the Twins, Mother Meraut, and four of her own party of young women should go to the railroad station to get them. The great truck was brought out, ropes were then thrown in, and all the people who composed what Mademoiselle called the "Reception Committee" climbed in and sat on the floor, while Mademoiselle and the Doctor occupied the driver's seat. The soldiers had done some work on the roads, so they were not as bad as they had been earlier in the spring; but they were still bad enough, and the people in the truck were bounced about like kernels of corn in a popper.

"Now," said Mademoiselle, when they arrived at the station, "the fowls and the rabbits will have to go back in the truck. That will be easy, for they came in crates; but the cows, the goats, and the pigs must be either led or driven."

"It sounds simple enough," said the Doctor, "but have any of you ever known any cows or pigs? Do you know how to manage them?"

"I have an acquaintance with cows," said Mother Meraut, "but to goats and pigs I am a stranger."

"Very well," said Mademoiselle, "Mother Meraut shall lead the way with the cows. You, Kathleen and Louise," she said, turning to two of the gray-uniformed girls, "you shall attend the goats. Mary and Martha may tackle the pigs. Pierre and Pierrette will serve excellently as short-stops in case any of our live-stock gets away, and the Doctor and I will bring up the rear."

"It's going to be a regular circus!" said Kathleen. "I feel as if we ought to wear spangles and be led by a band."

"We haven't any clown, though," said Martha.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Mary, "if we'd all look like clowns in this parade."

The car with the creatures in it was standing on a side track, and the station agent, looking doubtfully at the girls, led the way to it, and after the rabbits and fowls had been loaded into the truck, placed a gangplank for the cows to walk down, and opened the door of the car. But nothing happened; the cows obstinately refused to step down the plank.

"Here's a rope," said Mademoiselle, at last, throwing one up to the agent. "I hoped we shouldn't need it, but I guess we do."

The agent fixed the rope to the horns of one of the cows, and threw the other end to Mademoiselle. "Now," said he, "pull gently to begin with."

Mademoiselle, pale but valiant, pulled, quietly at first, then harder. The cow put her head down, braced her feet and backed.

"Come on," cried Mademoiselle to the others, "we'll all have to pull together."

Any one who could get hold of it seized the rope.

"I never played 'pom pom pull away' with a cow before," quavered Louise. "I—I—don't feel sure she knows the rules of the game!"

"She'll soon learn," said Mademoiselle, grimly. "Don't welch. Now, then, one—two—three—pull!"

At the word, they all leaned back and pulled. The cow, yielding suddenly, shot out of the car like a cork out of a champagne bottle, and the girls attached to the rope went down like a row of bricks. The rope flew out of their hands, and the cow went careering down the track with the rope dangling wildly after her, while the other cow, fired by her example, came bawling after. When they found grass by the roadside they became reasonable at once. Mother Meraut then took charge of them, and, as Kathleen remarked, "that ended the first movement." The second began when the goats were unloaded. Mademoiselle took no chances with them. She got the agent to put ropes on them in the first place, and Kathleen and Louise, cautiously advancing to the plank, held up propitiatory offerings of grass.

"That's right," laughed Mademoiselle, "leading citizens with bouquets! Perhaps a speech of welcome might help. They aren't the first old goats to be received that way."

"Hush!" implored Louise. "My knees are knocking together so I can hardly stand up now, and suppose they should butt!"

"In the words of the immortal bard 'butt me no butts,'" murmured Kathleen, as they reached the gang-plank.

The agent, having attached the rope and released the goats from their moorings, stood back and gave them full access to the open door, holding the other end of the rope firmly in his hands. "You can take the ropes when they are safely down the plank," he cried gallantly. "They need a man to handle them."

"Oh, thank you," said Kathleen and Louise with one voice.

The goats accepted the suggestion of the open door at once and galloped down the gang-plank with such reckless speed that the agent lost his footing and came coasting down after them. "Mille tonneurs!" he exclaimed, as he reached the end of the gang-plank and struck a bed of gravel. "Those goats are possessed of the devil!"

The Doctor was beside him in an instant. "I hope you are not injured," she cried. "Is there anything I can do for you? I am a doctor."

"No, Madame," said the agent, bowing politely, as he got himself on his feet again, "I am hurt only in my pride, and you have no medicine for that!"

"Oh," cried Mademoiselle, "how brave it was of you! It's as you say—they need a man to manage them!"

The station agent looked at the goats, who were now grazing peacefully, attended by Kathleen and Louise, and then, a little thoughtfully, at Mademoiselle. "It is indeed better that a man should take these risks," he said, throwing out his chest. "And there are still the pigs! I doubt not they are as full of demons as the Gadarene Swine themselves!"

"What should we do without your help?" said Mademoiselle. "The pigs cannot be roped!"

"No," said the agent sadly, "they cannot." He considered a moment. Then he motioned to Pierre and Pierrette, who were standing with Mary and Martha at a respectful distance. "Come here, all of you," he said, addressing them from the top of the gang-plank; "pigs must be taken by strategy. I am an old soldier. I will engineer an encircling movement. Mademoiselle; will you stand here at the left, and, Madame la Docteur, will you station yourself at my right? The rest of you arrange yourselves in a curved line extending westward from Madame. Then I will release the pigs, and you, watching their movements, will head them off if they start in the wrong direction. Voila! We will now commence."

He went back into the car, and in another moment the pigs, squealing vociferously, thundered down the gang-plank, gave one look at the "encircling movement," and, wheeling about, instantly dashed under the car and out on the other side into an open field. It was not until they had made a complete tour of the village, pursued by the entire personnel of the "encircling movement" that they were at last turned into the Fontanelle road.

"This isn't—the way—this parade—was advertised!" gasped Kathleen, as she struggled with her goat in an effort to take her appointed place in the caravan. "The—cows—were to—go—first!"

"Never mind," answered Louise cheerfully, as she pulled her goat into the road. "A little informality will be overlooked, I'm sure."

Mother Meraut followed them with the cows, and last of all Mademoiselle and the Doctor climbed into the truck and brought up the rear of the procession, with all the roosters crowing at the top of their lungs.

There is not time to tell of all the adventures that befell them on the eventful journey back to Fontanelle. One can merely guess that it must have been full of excitement, since the Reception Committee did not reach the village with their charges until some time after dark. Mother Meraut was worried because she was not home in time to get a hot supper for the tired girls, but when they arrived they found that Grand'mere had stepped into the breach, and had made steaming hot soup for every one. Grandpere and Father Meraut took charge of the live-stock, and Mother Corbeille milked the cows.

As they dragged themselves wearily to bed that night, Kathleen decorated Mademoiselle with a huge cross,—cut out of paper,—which she pinned upon her nightgown. "For extreme gallantry," she explained, "in leading your forces into action in face of a fierce charge by two goats, and for taking prisoner two rebellious pigs!" Then she saluted ceremoniously and tumbled into bed.



XII. MORNING IN THE MEADOW

As summer came on, life seemed less and less sad to the people of Fontanelle. With the coming of the Americans the outlook had so changed that, although the war was not yet over, they could look forward to the future with some degree of hope. The news brought from Rheims by occasional refugees was always sad. The Germans continued to shell the defenseless city, and the Cathedral sustained more and more injuries, but the beautiful stained-glass windows had been carefully taken down, the broken pieces put together as far as possible, and the whole shipped to safer places in France. The statue of Jeanne d'Arc within the church had also been taken from its niche, while the one before the Cathedral doors still remained unharmed by shot and shell.

It comforted Mother Meraut to think of that valiant figure standing alone amid such desolation. She had other things to comfort her as well. With food and fresh air the roses bloomed again in the cheeks of her children. Soon, too, the gardens began to yield early vegetables. In the morning, instead of hearing the sound of guns, they were awakened by bird-songs, or by the crowing of cocks and the bleating of goats. These were pleasant sounds to the people of Fontanelle, for they brought memories of peaceful and prosperous days, and the promise of more to come.

The rebuilding of the village was begun by the end of June, and the sound of saws and hammers cheered them with the prospect of comfortable homes before cold weather should come again. The work proceeded slowly, for the workers were few, even though their good friend the Commandant gave them all the help he could. There were now a multitude of little chicks running about on what had been the stately lawns of the Chateau, and there were twenty new little rabbits in the rabbit-hutch. As the rabbits could not forage for themselves, it was necessary for others to forage for them, and this work fell to the lot of Pierre and Pierrette.

One summer morning one of the roosters crowed very, very early, and the Twins, having no clock, supposed it was time for them to get up and go for fresh leaves and roots for the rabbits, as they did every day. They rose at once, and the sun was just peering above the eastern horizon as they came out of the stable door. They went to the rabbit-hutch, and the rabbits, seeing them, stood up on their hind legs and wiggled their noses hungrily.

"Rabbits do have awful appetites," said Pierre, a little ruefully, as he looked down at the empty food-box. "Just think what a pile of things we brought them yesterday."

"There's nothing to do but get them more, I suppose," answered Pierrette.

"I know where there's just bushels and bushels of water-cress," said Pierre, "but it's quite a long distance off. You know the brook that flows through the meadow between here and camp? It's just stuffed with it, and rabbits like it better than almost anything."

"Let's go and get some now," said Pierrette. "We can take the clothes-basket and bring back enough to last all day."

Pierre went for the basket, and the two children started down the road which ran beside the meadow toward the camp. It was so early that not another soul in the village was up. Even the rooster had gone to sleep again after his misguided crowing. One pale little star still winked in the morning sky, but the birds were already winging and singing, as the children, carrying the basket between them, set forth upon their quest.

When they reached the brook, they set down the basket, took off their wooden shoes, and, wading into the stream, began gathering great bunches of the cress. They were so busy filling their basket that they did not notice the sun had gone out of sight behind a cloud-bank, and that the air was still with that strange breathless stillness that precedes a storm. It was not until a loud clap of thunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning, suddenly broke the silence, that they knew the storm was upon them. When they looked up, the meadow grasses were bend ing low before a sudden wind, and the trees were swaying to and fro as if in terror, against the background of an angry sky.

"Wow!" said Pierre. "I guess we're in for it! We can't possibly get home before it breaks."

"Oh," gasped Pierrette, as another peal of thunder shook the air, "I don't want to stay out in it. What shall we do?"

Pierre looked about him. A little distance beyond the brook, toward the camp, there was a straw-stack with a rough straw-thatched shed beside it, half hidden under a group of small trees. Pierre pointed to it. "We'll leave the basket here," he said, "and hide under the straw until the storm is over. Then we can come back again, get it, and go home."

Another clap of thunder, louder still, sent them flying on their way, and they did not speak again until they were under the shelter of the shed. The first big drops fell as they reached it, and then the storm broke in a fury of wind and water. The children cowered against the stack itself as far as possible out of reach of the driving rain.

They had been there but a few moments, when they heard a new sound in addition to the roar of the wind and the patter of the rain upon the leaves. It was the dull tread of heavy footsteps, and they were surprised to see a man running toward the straw-stack, his head bent to shield his face from the rain, under the brim of an old hat. His clothes were rough and unkempt, and altogether his appearance was so forbidding that the children instinctively dived under the straw at the edge of the stack like frightened mice, and burrowed backward until they were completely hidden, though they could still peep out through the loose straw.

The man reached the shed almost before they were out of view, but it was evident that he had not seen them, for he did not glance in their direction. He took off his hat and shook the rain-drops from it. Then he wiped his face and neck with a soiled handkerchief and sat down on the edge of a bench that had once been used for salting cattle. He sat still for a little while, with his feet drawn up on the bench and his hands clasping his knees, the better to escape the rain. Then he began to grow restless. He walked back and forth and peered out into the rain in the direction of the camp. The children were so frightened they could hear their own hearts beat, but they had been in danger so many times, and in so many different ways that they kept their presence of mind, and were able to follow closely his every move. Soon they heard the sound of more footsteps, and suddenly there dashed under the shed a soldier in the uniform of France. It was evident that the first man expected him, for he showed no surprise at his coming, and the two sat down together on the bench and began to talk.

The wind had now subsided a little, and though they spoke in low tones the children could hear every word.

"Whew!" said the soldier as he shook his rain-coat. "Nasty weather."

"All the better for our purposes," answered the other man. "There's less chance of our being seen."

"Not much chance of that, anyway, so early in the morning as this," answered the soldier, looking at his watch. "It's not yet four o'clock!"

"Best not to linger, anyway," said the other man. "That Captain of yours has the eyes of a hawk. I was up at camp the other day selling cigarettes and chocolate, and he eyed me as if he was struck with my beauty."

"I wish you'd keep away from camp," said the soldier, impatiently. "It isn't necessary, and you might run into some one who knew you back in Germany. There are all kinds of people in the Foreign Legion. I tell you, it isn't safe, and besides, I can get all the information we need without it."

"All right, General," responded the other, grinning. "But have you got it? That's the question. I expect that buzzard will be flying around again over this field in a night or so,—the moon is 'most full now, and the nights are light,—and I've got to be able to signal him just how to find the powder magazine and the other munitions. Then he can swoop right over there and drop one of his little souvenirs where it will do the most good and fly away home. I advise you to keep away from that section of the camp yourself."

"Here is the map," said the soldier, drawing a paper from his pocket, "and there are also statistics as to the number of men and all I can find out about plans for using them. Take good care of it. It wouldn't be healthy to be found with it on you."

The first man pocketed the paper. "That's all, is it?" he asked.

"All for this time, anyway," answered the soldier.

The man looked at him narrowly.

"Well," said the soldier, "what's the matter? Don't I look like a Frenchman?"

"You'd deceive the devil himself," answered the man with a short laugh. "No one would ever think you were born in Bavaria. Don't forget and stick up the corners of your mustache, though. That might give you away. When do you think you can get over to see that fort?"

"I don't know," answered the soldier sharply, "but I'll meet you here day after to-morrow at the same hour. Auf Wiedersehen," and he was gone.

After his departure, his companion lingered a moment, lit a cigarette, looked up at the sky, and, seeing that the shower was nearly over, strolled off in the opposite direction.

The children, looking after him, saw him come upon their basket near the brook, examine it carefully, and then look about in every direction as if searching for the owners. Seeing no one, he gave it a kick and passed on. They watched him, not daring to move until he turned toward the river and was out of sight. Later they saw a boat come from the shelter of some bushes on the bank, and slip quietly down the stream with the man in it.

When they dared move once more they crawled out from under the straw, and Pierrette said, "Well, what do you think of that?"

"Think!" Pierre said, choking with wrath. "I think he's a miserable dog of a spy! They are both spies! And they are going to try to blow up the whole camp! You come along with me." He seized Pierrette by the hand, and the two flew over the wet meadow toward the distant camp.

"Whatever should we do if we met that soldier?" gasped Pierrette, breathless with running and excitement.

"Look stupid," said Pierre promptly. "He didn't see us, and he'd never dream we had seen him; but, by our blessed Saint Jeanne, this is where I get even with the Germans! Let's find Jim and Uncle Sam."

Reveille was just sounding as they entered the camp and presented themselves at the door of Uncle Sam's tent. During the weeks that had elapsed since their arrival in France, Jim and Uncle Sam had acquired a fair working knowledge of the language, and, though it still remained a queer mixture of French and English, they and the children managed to understand each other very well.

"Bonjour, kids!" cried Uncle Sam in astonishment, when he saw the two children at the tent door. "What on earth are you doing here? Don't you know visitors are not expected in camp at this hour?"

"Sh—sh!" said Pierre, laying his finger on his lips. "Nobody must see us! We have important news!"

Uncle Sam sat up in bed. "Why, I believe you have," he said, looking attentively at their pale faces. "Just wait a minute while I get my clothes on. Here, you—Jim," he added, poking a recumbent figure in the adjoining cot. "Roll out! It's reveille!"

Jim sat up at once and rubbed his eyes, and, after a hurried consultation, the two men turned the two children with their faces to the wall in one corner of the tent, while they made a hasty toilet in the other.

"Now, then, out with it," said Uncle Sam a few moments later. "Que vooly-voo? What's up?"

Jim sat down beside him on the edge of the cot, and the two men listened in amazement to the story the two children had to tell. When they had finished, Uncle Sam wasted no words. "Come with me to the Captain tooty sweet," he said. And Jim added, as he patted the Twins tenderly on the head, "By George, mes enfants, you ought to get the war cross for this day's work."

A few moments more, and the children and Uncle Sam were ushered by an orderly into the presence of the Captain, who was just in the act of shaving. Uncle Sam's message to him had been so imperative that they were admitted at once to his presence, even though his face was covered with lather and he was likely to fill his mouth with soap if he opened it. Uncle Sam saluted, and the Twins, wishing to be as polite as possible, saluted too. The Captain returned the salute, and went on shaving as he listened to their story, grunting now and then emphatically instead of speaking, on account of the soap. When Pierre came to what the soldier had said under the shed, he was so much interested that he cut his chin.

"So that's their program, is it?" he sputtered, soap and all, mopping his chin. "But how on earth did you happen to be in such a place as that at such an hour in the morning?"

Pierre explained about the rabbits and the cress, and Uncle Sam added: "They're from Fontanelle. Their father is a soldier wounded at the Marne, and they lived under fire in Rheims for eight months before coming here. They're some kids, believe me! They know what war is."

"Yes," said the Captain, "I remember them; they came up the river some weeks ago." Then he turned to the children. "Would you know that soldier if you were to see him again?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said the children.

"Very well," said the Captain, "the men will go to breakfast soon. You stay with Sam and watch them, and if you see that man go by you step on Sam's foot. No one must see you do it. Be sure you don't make a mistake now," he added, "and if you really do unearth the rascal, it's the best day's work you ever did, for yourselves as well as for France. Sam, you report to me afterwards, and be sure you give no occasion for suspicion to any one."

"Yes, sir," said Sam, and saluted. Pierre and Pierrette saluted also.

The Captain returned the salute with ceremony. "You are true soldiers of France," he said to the Twins as they left his tent.

If their comrades were surprised to see Uncle Sam standing with two children by his side while the others passed into the mess tent with cups and plates in hand, no one said anything. It was a little irregular to be sure—but then—Americans were always unexpected! For a long time the men filed by, and still there was no sign of the face they sought. At last, however, Pierre came down solidly on Uncle Sam's right foot, and at the same time Pierrette touched his left with her wooden shoe. There, right in front of them, carrying his plate and cup, and twirling his mustache, was the man they sought!

The Twins stood still, and not by the quiver of an eyelash did they betray any excitement until the man had passed into the tent. Then Uncle Sam said to them, "Now you scoot for home, or your Mother will be worried to death! Tell your Father and Mother all about it, but don't tell another soul at present." The children flew back across the meadow, picked up their basket of cress, and when they reached the Chateau, fed the hungry rabbits. Then they found their Father and Mother and told them their morning's adventures.



XIII. CHILDREN OF THE LEGION

It must not be supposed, because things were more cheerful for the inhabitants of Fontanelle, that they had forgotten the war. They were reminded of it every day, not only by the presence of soldiers, but by the sound of distant guns, and by the visits of German airplanes. Often in the middle of the night an alarm would be given, and the people of the village would spring from their beds and seek refuge in the cellars of the Chateau—that is, all but Kathleen; she obstinately refused to go, even when the Doctor reasoned with her. "Let me die in my bed," she pleaded. "It's better form. Our best people have always done it, and besides when I'm waked suddenly that way I'm apt to be cross." So, when the sound of the buzzing motor was heard in the sky, she simply drew the covers over her head, and stayed where she was, while a strange, half-clad procession, recruited from stables and granary, filed into the Chateau cellar. These raids were likely to occur on bright nights, and as the time of the full moon approached, the people of the village grew more watchful and slept less soundly.

On the night following the adventure of the Twins in the meadow, though the moon shone, no aerial visitor appeared, nor did one come the next night after. Neither did any news from camp come to the village. Pierre and Pierrette longed to tell Mademoiselle and the Doctor their secret, but Uncle Sam had told them to share it with no one but their parents, and they knew obedience was the first requisite of a good soldier; so they said nothing, and nearly burst in consequence. They went no more to the meadow after cress, however. Mother Meraut saw to that. If they had gone there on the morning of the next day but one after their encounter with the spies, they would have had a still more thrilling experience, for at midnight Uncle Sam, Jim, and the Captain had quietly stolen away from camp and hidden themselves in the straw. There they stayed until in the gray of the early dawn they saw a boat come up the river, and the slouching figure of the spy stalk across the meadow to his rendez-vous under the shed. They stayed there until the soldier appeared, and until they had heard with their own ears the plan for signaling the German airplane that night, and for giving information which would en able the aviator to blow up their stores of powder and ammunition. Then, suddenly and swiftly, at a prearranged signal, the three men sprang from the straw, and the astonished spies found themselves surrounded and covered by the muzzles of three guns. They saw at once that resistance was useless, and sullenly obeyed the Captain's order to throw up their hands. They were then marched back to camp, turned over to the proper authorities, and the next morning at sunrise they met the fate of all spies who are caught.

That was not the end of the affair, however, for, knowing that the airplane which the spy had referred to as the "Buzzard" was to be expected that night, and that the German aviator would look for signals from the straw-stack, plans were made for his reception, and this part of the drama was witnessed from the village as well as from the camp. The night was clear, and at about eleven o'clock the whirr of a motor was heard in the distance. The Doctor, who had returned late from a visit to a sick patient in an adjoining village, heard it, and at once gave the alarm. Out of their beds tumbled the sleepy people of Fontanelle, and, wrapping themselves in blankets or any garment they could snatch, they ran out of doors and gazed anxiously into the sky.

Pierre and Pierrette, with their parents and grandparents, were among the first to appear. They saw the black speck sail swiftly from the east, and hover like a bird of ill omen over the meadows. No alarm sounded from the camp, but suddenly from the shadows three French planes shot into the air. Two at once engaged the enemy, while a third cut off his retreat. The battle was soon over. There were sharp reports of guns and blinding flashes of fire as the great machines whirled and maneuvered in the air, and then the German, finding himself outnumbered and with no way of escape, came to earth and was taken prisoner.

"Three of 'em bagged, by George," exclaimed Jim to Uncle Sam, when the aviator was safely locked up in the guardhouse, "and all due to the pluck and sense of those two kids. If it hadn't been for them, the chances are we'd all have been ready for cold storage by this time. They've saved the camp—that's what they've done! There are explosives enough stored here to have blown every one of us to Kingdom-come!"

"Right you are, Jim," replied Uncle Sam with hearty emphasis, "we surely do owe them something, and that's a cinch. Let's talk with the boys."

That night Uncle Sam and Jim made eloquent use of all the French they knew as they sat about the camp-fire, and told the story of Pierre and Pierrette to their comrades in arms. Not only did they tell of their finding the spies and saving the camp from destruction, but of their Father, wounded at the Marne, of their experience in the Cathedral at Rheims, and of all they had suffered there, and especially of their plucky Mother whose spirit no misfortune could break. And when they had finished the tale, the men gave such a hearty cheer for the whole Meraut family that it was heard in the village a mile away, though no one there had the least idea what the noise was about.

The next day Uncle Sam and Jim appeared in Fontanelle and told the story of the spies to the Doctor and Mademoiselle, and then they held a long private conference with Mother Meraut. The children were on pins and needles to know what they were talking about, and why Mother Meraut looked so happy afterward, but she only shook her head when they begged her to tell them, and said, "Someday you'll find out."

Two days later an orderly rode into the Chateau gate on horseback, and inquired for Pierre and Pierrette Meraut. At the moment he arrived the Twins were feeding the rabbits, but they came running to the gate when their Mother called them, and the orderly handed them an envelope with their names on it in large letters. The Twins were so excited they could hardly wait to know what was inside. They had never before received a letter. Their Mother opened it and read the contents to the astonished children. This was the note:—

"The Commandant and men of the Foreign Legion request the pleasure of the company of Pierre and Pierrette Meraut, and of all the people of Fontanelle at a birthday party to be held at Camp (of course the exact name of the camp has to be left out on account of the Censor) on July 14th at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. R. S. V. P."

The eyes of Pierre and Pierrette almost popped out of their heads with surprise. "Why, Mother," they cried, "that's our birthday! And it's Bastille Day too! Do you suppose it is the birthday of the Commandant also?"

"Maybe," said their Mother, smiling. "Anyway it is the birthday of our dear France."

The orderly smiled, too, and touched his hat. "Is there an answer?" he asked.

"There will be," said Mother Meraut, "but first the others must be told."

The Twins ran with their wonderful letter to the dispensary and told the Doctor. Then they found Mademoiselle, who, with Kathleen's assistance, was putting a new tire on one wheel of the truck. They found Louise mending a chicken-coop, and Mary and Martha sorting supplies in the storeroom. They found all the other people of the village, some in the garden and some working elsewhere, and every single one said they should be delighted to go.

"Now," said Mademoiselle, when they returned to her and reported, "you must write your acceptance."

The Twins looked blank. "Can't we just tell him?" they asked anxiously. "We can't write very well—not well enough to write to the Commandant."

"Oh, but," said Mademoiselle, "I'm sure he will expect a letter, and you must just write the very best you can, and it will be good enough, I'm sure. Get writing-materials, and I will help you."

At her direction Pierre brought paper and ink from her little house, and the two children sat down on the ground beside the truck.

"Now, what shall we say?" asked Pierrette.

"I know," said Pierre; "let's say: 'Thank you for asking us to your party. We are all coming. Amen!' Don't you think that would do?"

Mademoiselle bent over her tire. "Yes," she said, "I think he will like that, but I'd both sign it if I were you."

So the Twins signed it and put it in an envelope and gave it to the orderly, who promptly put it in his pocket, saluted, wheeled his horse, and galloped away toward camp.

The days before the party were full of excitement for the Twins. They thought of nothing else, and how strange it was that Bastille Day and the Commandant's birthday both should be the same as theirs. Mother Meraut bought some cloth, and made Pierrette a new dress, and Pierre a new blouse, to wear on the great occasion, and when the day finally came, the children searched the fields to find flowers for a bouquet for the Commandant; since they had no other birthday gift to offer him.

At three o'clock in the afternoon the whole village was ready to start. Mademoiselle drove the truck with the old people and little children sitting in it on heaps of straw. Kathleen was the driver of the Ford car, and had as passengers Father Meraut, because he was lame, and Grandpere because he was Grandpere, and the Twins because it was their birthday; and everybody else walked.

When they reached the camp, they found Jim and Uncle Sam ready to act as guard of honor to conduct them to the Commandant, who, with the Captain beside him, waited to receive them beside the flagstaff at the reviewing-stand of the parade-ground. It seemed very strange to Pierre and Pierrette that they should walk before their parents, and even before the Doctor and Mademoiselle, but Uncle Sam and Jim arranged the procession, and placed them at its head. So, carrying their bouquet of flowers, they followed obediently where their escort led. "Now, kids," said Uncle Sam in a low voice as they neared the reviewing-stand, "walk right up and mind your manners. Salute and give him the bouquet, and speak your piece."

"We haven't any piece to speak," quavered Pierrette, very much frightened, "except to wish him many happy returns of his birthday."

Uncle Sam's eyes twinkled. "That'll do all right," he said; only of course he said it in French.

The regiment was massed before the reviewing-stand as the little company came forward to meet their host, and when at last Pierre and Pierrette stood before the Commandant, with the beautiful flag of France floating over them, though they had been fearless under shell-fire, their knees knocked together with fright, and it was in a very small voice that they said, together, "Bonjour, Monsieur le Commandant, accept these flowers and our best wishes for many happy returns of your birthday."

The Commandant took the flowers and smiled down at them. "It is not my birthday, my little ones," he said gently, "it is the birthday of our glorious France and of two of her brave soldiers, Pierre and Pierrette Meraut, as well, and the Foreign Legion is here to celebrate it! Come up here beside me." He drew them up beside him on the reviewing-stand and turned their astonished faces toward the regiment.

"Men of the Foreign Legion," he said, "these are the children who discovered two spies, and by reporting them saved our camp from probable destruction." Then, turning again to the children, he said: "By your prompt and intelligent action you have prevented a terrible catastrophe. In recognition of your services the Foreign Legion desires to make you honorary members of the regiment, and France is proud to claim you as her children!" Then he pinned upon their breasts a cockade of blue, white, and red, the colors of France, and kissed them on both cheeks, the regiment meanwhile standing at attention.

When he had finished the little ceremony, the men, responding to a signal from the Captain; burst into a hearty cheer. "Vive Pierre! Vive Pierrette! Vive tous les Meraut," they cried.

For a moment the Twins stood stunned, petrified with astonishment, looking at the cheering men and at the proud upturned faces of their parents and the people of Fontanelle. Then Pierre was suddenly inspired. He waved his hat in salutation to the flag which, floated above them and shouted back to the regiment, "Vive la France!" and Pierrette saluted and kissed her hand. Then the band struck up the Marseillaise, and everybody sang it at the top of his lungs.

It was a wonderful golden time that followed, for when the children had thanked the Commandant, all the people of Fontanelle were invited to sit on the reviewing-stand and watch the regiment go through the regular drill and extra maneuvers in honor of the day, and when that was over, the guests were escorted back to the mess tent, and there they had supper with the men. Moreover, the camp cook had made a magnificent birthday cake, all decorated with little French flags. It was cut with the Captain's own sword, and though there wasn't enough for the whole regiment, every one from Fontanelle had a bite, and Pierre and Pierrette each had a whole piece.

When the beautiful bright day was over and they were back again in Fontanelle, the Twins found that even this was not the end of their joy and good fortune, for Mother Meraut told them that the regiment had put in her care a sum of money to provide for their education. "Children of such courage and good sense must be well equipped to serve their country when they grow up," the Commandant had said, and the men, responding to his appeal, had put their hands in their pockets and brought out a sum sufficient to make such equipment possible.

More than that, Uncle Sam and Jim had two small uniforms made for them,—only Pierrette's had a longer skirt to the coat,—and on parade days and other great occasions they wore them to the camp, with the blue, white, and red cockades pinned proudly upon their breasts. Indeed, they became the friends and pets of the whole regiment, and were quite as much at home with the soldiers as with the people of Fontanelle.

Then one day Uncle Sam had a letter from home in which there was wonderful news. It said that the city of Rheims had been "adopted" by the great, rich city of Chicago far away across the seas, and that some happy day when the war should be over and peace come again to the distracted world, Rheims should rise again from its ashes, rebuilt by its American friends.

In this hope the Twins still live and work, performing their duties faithfully each day, like good soldiers, and praying constantly to the Bon Dieu and their adored Saint Jeanne that the blessings which have come to them may yet come also to all their beloved France.



PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY

KEY

ale, care, am, arm, ask; eve, end; menu, ice, ill; old, obey, orb, odd; food; zh = z in azure; N = the French nasal. ' An apostrophe indicates a short sounding of the preceding consonant.

Proper Names

Aisne Amerique Boche Charly Corbeille Coudert Fifine Jacqueline Jacques Jeanne d'Arc Marseillaise Meraut Pierre Rheims Varennes Vesle

French Words and Phrases

Abbe

Bon Dieu (Heavenly Father)

Bonjour (Good-day; hello; how do you do?)

chateau (castle)

combattre le Boche (fight the Boche)

grand'mere (grandmother)

grandpere (grandfather)

"Les Americains des Etats-Unis, duns l'uniforme de la France. Mais maintenant nous exterminons le Boche." ("Americans from the United States, in the uniform of France. Surely now we shall crush out the Boche.")

Mille tonneurs! (Great heavens!)

Que voulez-vous? (What do you wish?)

Verger

Vive (Long live)

Vive la France (Long life to France!)

Vive tous les Meraut (Long life to all the Meraut family.)

"Auf Wiedersehen" (German: "Till we meet again," or "Good-bye.")

"Lieb' Vaterland, macht ruhig sein" (German national anthem: "Dear Fatherland, be tranquil.")



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS

The French Twins offers a valuable supplement to the study of current events. In the first place, there is no problem of arousing interest in the nation which this book represents. France and the French people have from the outbreak of the Great War compelled new and intense interest and sympathy from all Americans; and each fresh insight into the character, life, and ideals of the country is eagerly welcomed. Moreover, in any class there will be few children who cannot claim either a relative or a friend who has served in the War; and many, like Pierre and Pierrette Meraut, will have had soldier fathers, thereby creating a bond between themselves and the Merauts strong enough to guarantee the pupils' interest throughout the reading of the book. Like the other books of the "Twins Series," The French Twins adapts itself readily to dramatization.

In providing adequate background for the story, the teacher will find fertile resources in newspapers and magazines. The Red Cross Magazine, The National Geographic Magazine, the Boy Scout and the Girl Scout publications, are readily accessible and contain much valuable supplementary material for classroom use. The Foreign Legion, the Battles of the Marne, Joffre's visit to the United States, Rheims Cathedral, important events near the scenes of the story, etc., can be made clear and real to the children by the aid of maps, illustrations, and articles in these magazines, and by means of picture post-cards, and other material from other sources. The story of the founding of the Red Cross, the origin of its flag, etc., will help to vivify the incidents connected with this organization.

As for French history, the two focus points are the stoniest of Joan of Arc and Bastille Day. Both furnish abundance of colorful detail and incident upon which to build the pupils' conceptions of the spirit and ideals of the French people. In the case of Bastille Day, correlation should be made between that day and our own Independence Day, comparing the French and American Revolutions and indicating the similar circumstances in the two movements. Lafayette's part in our War of the Revolution and America's payment of our debt to France in the Great War form another means of making familiar to the children the story of our historic friendship with France.

While The French Twins is a war story, soldiers and trenches and battle-fields are nevertheless not the main features; on the contrary, The French Twins depicts the necessary part played by women, children, and old people during the War, and shows how the spirit and aims of the soldiers' families have been the same as those of the soldiers themselves. Self-control, endurance, and cheerfulness at home are proved to be as much a part of true bravery as fearlessness in battle. Since the soldier's part in the War has been held closely to everyone's attention, the reading of this story will supply a balancing view of the other side of war; and the pupils' perspective of the whole cannot fail to gain in scope.

Books which may be commended to the teacher, for descriptions of various aspects of the Great War, are: Hay's The First Hundred Thousand; Nicolas's Campaign Diary of a French Officer; Aldrich's A Hilltop on the Marne; Hall's High Adventure and Kitcheners Mob; Buswell's Ambulance No. 10; Haigh's Life in a Tank; Stevenson's From "Poilu" to "Yank"; two anonymous books, The Retreat from Mons and Friends of France; Paine's The Fighting Fleets; and Root and Crocker's Over Periscope Pond.

For children's reading, we suggest Mrs. Perkins's The Belgian Twins, Sara Cone Bryant's I am an American, Thwaites and Kendall's History of the United States, Tappan's Little Book of the War, and such compilations as Stories of Patriotism and The Patriotic Reader.

THE END