"Surre, we did!"

"Then I give it up," said Tom resignedly. "The compass says north—we're going north. This is the very same toymaker."

"Go-o-od night!" said Archer, with even more than his usual vehemence. "Maybe the Gerrmans have conquerred the Norrth Pole and taken all the steel to make mountains, just like they knocked international law all endways, hey? That's why the compass don't point right. G-o-o-o-o-od night!"

This ingenious theory, involving a rather large piece of strategy even for "supermen," did not appeal to Tom's sober mind.

"That's what it is," said Archer. "You've got to admit that if they could send Zeps and submarines and things to the North Pole and cop all the steel, the British navy, and ourrs too, would be floppin' around the ocean like a chicken with its head cut off.—It's a good idea!"

Tom went up to the old toymaker, who greeted them with a smile, seeming no more surprised to see them than he had been the day before.

"North—north?" asked Tom, pointing.

"Nort—yah," said the old man, pointing too.

"Water," said Tom; "swim—swim across" (he pointed southward and made the motions of swimming). The old man nodded as if he understood.

"Ach—vauder, yach,—Nonnenmattweiher."

"What?" said Tom.

"What?" said Archer.

"Nonnenmattweiher," said the old man. "Yah."

"He wants to know what's the matter with you," said Archer.

"Water," Tom repeated, almost in desperation.

"Swim (he went through the motions): Swim across water to south—start south, go north." He made no attempt to convey the incident of the vanishing coats.

"Water—yah,—Nonnenmattweiher," the man repeated.

At last, by dint of repeating words and swinging their arms and going through a variety of extraordinary motions, the boys succeeded in conveying to the little man that something was wrong in the neighborhood of the lake, and he appeared willing enough to go back with them, trotting along beside Tom in his funny belted blouse, for all the world like a mechanical toy. Tom had his misgivings as to whether they would really reach the lake no matter which way they went, but they did reach it, and standing under the tree where they had recovered their vanished coats they tried to explain to the old man what had happened—that they had crossed from the north to the south bank and continued southward, only to find that they were going north!

Suddenly a new light illumined the little man's countenance and he chuckled audibly. Then he pointed across the lake, chattering and chuckling the while, and went through a series of strange motions, spreading his legs farther and farther apart, pointing to the ground between them, and concluded this exhibition with a sweeping motion of his hands as if bidding some invisible presence of that enchanted place God-speed across the water.

"Och—goo," he said, and shook his head and laughed.

"I know what he means," said Tom at last, with undisguised chagrin, "and I'm a punk scout. I didn't notice anything at all. Come on. We've got to swim across again—that's south, all right."

"What is it?" asked Archer.

"I'll show you when we get there—come on."

The little Swiss toymaker stood watching them and laughing with a spasmodic laugh which he might have caught from his own wooden cuckoo. When they reached the other shore Tom fell at once to examining a very perceptible rift in the earth a few feet from the shore.

"Do you see?" he said, "we floated over on this piece of land. The tree where we hung our coats was on the real shore, and——"

"Go-od night, and it missed the boat," concluded Archer.

"This tree here is something like it," said Tom, "and that's where I made my mistake. I ought to have noticed the trees and I ought to have noticed the crack. Gee, if my scout patrol ever heard of that! 'Specially Roy Blakeley," he added, shaking his head dubiously.

It was indeed something of a "bull" in scouting, though perhaps a more experienced forester than Tom would have become as confused as he in the same circumstances. Perhaps if he had been as companionable with his school geography as Archer had been with his he might have known about the famous Lake Nonnenmattweiher in the silent depths of the Schwarzwald and of its world-famed floating island, which makes its nocturnal cruises from shore to shore, a silent, restless voyager on that black pine-embowered lake.

As the boys looked back across the water they could see the little Swiss toymaker still standing upon the shore, and looking at him through the rescued glass (of which they were soon to make better use), Tom could see that his odd little figure was shaking with merriment—as if he were wound up.



CHAPTER XXVIII

AN INVESTMENT

Often, in the grim, bloody days to come, they thought of the little Swiss toymaker up there among his windmills and Noah's arks, and of his laugh at their expense. A merry little gnome he was, the very spirit of the Black Forest.

Their last sight of him marked almost the end of their wanderings. For another day's tramping through the solemn depths brought them to a little community, a tiny forest village, made up of just such cottages and people, and they made a detour to avoid it, only to run plunk into another miniature industrial centre which they also "side-stepped," though indeed the iron fist seemed not to be very tightly closed upon these primitive knights of the jack-knife and chisel; and they saw no dreaded sign of authority.

Still they did not wish to be reckless and when they sought food and shelter it was at a sequestered cottage several miles from the nearest habitation. Here Tom showed his button but the old man (they saw no young men) seemed not to know what it meant, although he gave them food, apparently believing them to be German soldiers.

Tom believed that they must have journeyed fifty or sixty miles southward, verging away from the river so as to keep within the depths of the forest, and he realized that the time had come for them to consider just what course they were going to pursue.

"If we're going to try to find her," he said rather hesitatingly, "we ought to hit it west so's we can take a pike across the river. But if we keep straight south we'll strike the river after it bends, if that old weaver knew what he was talking about, and when we cross it we'll be in Switzerland. We'll do whatever you say. Going straight south would be easier and safer," he added, with his usual blunt honesty; "and if we cross back into Alsace we'll have to go past houses and people and we'll be taking chances.—I admit it's like things in a book—I mean rescuing girls," he said, with his characteristic awkward frankness, "and maybe some people would say it was crazy, kind of——" What he meant was romantic, but he didn't exactly know how to say that. "As long as we've been lucky so far maybe we ought to get across the frontier and over to France as quick as we can. I s'pose that's where we belong—most of all——"

"Is that what you think?" said Archer.

"I ain't sayin' what I think, but——"

"Well, then, I'll say what I think," retorted Archer. "You're always telling about thoughts you've had. I don't claim I'm as good as you arre at having thoughts, but if therre's a soldierr wounded they send two or three soldierrs to carry the stretcherr, don't they? Maybe those soldierrs ought to be fighting, but saving a person comes firrst. You've hearrd about giving all you have to the Red Cross. All we got is the chance to get away. We've got morre chance than we had when we starrted, 'cause you'rre a good scout——"

"I don't claim——"

"Shut up," said Archer; "so it's like saving up ourr chances and adding to 'em, till now we're 'most in Switzerland and we got a good big chance saved up. I'll tell you what I'm going to do with mine—I'm going to give it to the Red Cross—kind of—as you'd say. If that girrl is worrkin' on that road and I can find herr, I'm goin' to. If I get pinched, all right. So it ain't a question of what we'rre goin' to do; it's a question of: Are you with me? You're always tellin' when yourr thoughts come to you. Well, I got that one just before I dived for the glass. So that's the way I'm going to invest my chance, 'cause I haven't got anything else to give.... I heard in prison about the Liberty Bond buttons they give you to wearr back home. I'd like to have one of those blamed things to wearr for a souveneerr."

Tom Slade had stood silent throughout this harangue, and now he laughed a little awkwardly. "It's better than investing money," he said, "and what I'm laughing at—kind of," he added with infinite relief and satisfaction showing through the emotion he was trying to repress; "what I'm laughing at is how you're always thinking about souvenirs."

* * * * *

So it was decided that their little joint store, their savings, as one might say—their standing capital of chance which they had improved and added to—should be invested in the hazardous business of rescuing a daughter of France from her German captors. It was giving with a vengeance.

It is a pity that there was no button to signalize this kind of a contribution.



CHAPTER XXIX

CAMOUFLAGE

They turned westward now in a direction which Tom thought would bring them about opposite the Alsatian town of Norne. A day's journey took them out of the forest proper into a rocky region of sparse vegetation from which they could see the river winding ribbonlike in the distance. Beyond it in the flat Alsatian country lay a considerable city which, from what old Melotte had told them, they believed to be Mulhausen.

"Norne is a little to the south of that and closer to the river," said Tom.

They picked their way along the edge of the palisades, concealing themselves among the rocks, and as they thus worked to the southward the precipitous heights and the river converged until they were almost directly above the water. At last, looking down, they saw upon the narrow strip of shore directly below them the old castle of which Melotte had told them. There was no other in sight. From their dizzy perch among the concealing rocks they could see almost the whole width of southern Alsace in panorama, as one sees New York from the Palisades of the Hudson, and in the distance the dim outlines of the Vosges mountains, beyond which lay France.

Not far from the river on the Alsatian side and (as old Melotte had said) directly opposite the castle, was a small town which Tom studied carefully with the glass.

"That's it," he said, relieved, for both of them had harbored a lingering fear that these places existed only in the childish mind of the blue-eyed old weaver. "Melotte was right," he added. "Wait a minute—I'll let you look. You can see the new road and people working on it and—wait a minute—I can see a little flag on one house."

There was no doubt about it. There was the town of Norne, and just west of it a road with tiny figures distributed along it.

Archer was all a-quiver as he took the glass. "I can see the house," he said; "it's right near the road, it's got a flag on it. When the light strikes it you can see the black spot. Oh, look, look!"

"I can't look when you've got the glass," said Tom in his dull way.

"I can see the battleline!" cried Archer.

Tom took the glass with unusual excitement. Far across the Alsatian country, north and south, ran a dim, gray line, seeming to have no more substance than a rainbow or the dust in a sun-ray. Far to the north it bent westward and he knew its course lay through the mountains. But short of those blue heights it seemed to peter out in a sort of gray mist. And that was all that could be seen of that seething, bloody line where the destinies of mankind were being contended for.

It was easy for the boys to imagine that the specks they could see were soldiers, American soldiers perhaps, and that low-hung clouds were the smoke of thundering artillery....

"I wonder if we'll ever get over there," said Archer.

"Over there," Tom repeated abstractedly.

* * * * *

Their program now must be one of stealth, not boldness, and they did not wish to be seen scrambling down the heights in broad daylight; so they waited for the night, regaling themselves out of the "furious profusion" of grapes of which there seemed enough to make an ocean of Rhenish wine.

It was dark when they reached the river bank and explored the shore for some means of getting across. At last they discovered a float with several boats attached to it and a ramshackle structure hard by within which was a light and the familiar sound of a baby crying.

"We've got to make up our minds not to be scared," said Tom, "and we mustn't look as if we were scared. You can't make believe you're not scared if you are. Let's try to make ourselves think we're really German soldiers and then other people will think so. We've got to act just like 'em."

"If you mean we've got to murrderr that baby," said Archer; "no sirree! Not for mine!"

"That ain't what I mean," said Tom. "You know Jeb Rushmore at Temple Camp? He came from Arizona. He says you can always tell a fake cowboy no matter how he may be dressed up because he don't feel like the West. It ain't just the uniforms that do it; it's the way we act."

"I get you," said Archer.

"I wouldn't do the things they do any more than I have to," Tom said; "and I don't know exactly how they feel——"

"They don't feel at all," interrupted Archer.

"But if we act as if we didn't care and ain't afraid, we stand a chance."

"We've got to act as if we owned the earrth," Archer agreed.

"Except if we should meet an officer," Tom concluded.

In his crude way Tom had stumbled upon a great truth, which is the one chief consideration in the matter of successful disguise. You must feel your part if you would act it. As he had said, they did not know how German soldiers felt (no civilized mortal knows that!), but he knew that the Germans were plentiful hereabouts and no novelty, and that their only hope of simulating two of them lay in banishing all timidity and putting on a bold front.

"One thing, we've got to keep our mouths shut," he said. "Most people won't bother us but we've got to look out for officers. I'm going to tear my shirt and make a sling for my arm and you've got to limp—and keep your mind on it. When you're faking, you limp with your brain—remember."

The first test of their policy was successful beyond their fondest dreams, though their parts were not altogether agreeable to them. They marched down to the float, unfastened one of the boats with a good deal of accompanying noise and started out into the river, just as Kaiser Bill had started across Belgium. A woman with a baby in her arms appeared in the doorway and stared at them—then banged the door shut.

They were greatly elated at their success and considered the taking of the boat as a war measure, as probably the poor German woman did too.

Once upon the other side they walked boldly into the considerable town of Norne and over the first paved streets which they had seen in many a day. They did not get out of the way of people at all; they let the people scurry out of their way and were very bold and high and mighty and unmannerly, and truly German in all the nice little particulars which make the German such an unspeakable beast.

Tom forgot all about the good old scout rule to do a good turn every day and camouflaged his manners by doing a bad turn every minute—or as nearly that as possible. It was good camouflage, and got them safely through the streets of Norne, where they must do considerable hunting to find the home of old Melotte's friend Blondel. They finally located it on the outskirts of the town and recognized it by the billet flag which Melotte had described to them.



CHAPTER XXX

THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE

It was the success of their policy of boldness, together with something which Madame Blondel told him, which prompted Tom to undertake the impudent and daring enterprise which was later to make him famous on the western front.

Blondel himself, notwithstanding his sixty-five years, had been pressed into military service, but Madame Blondel remained in the little house on the edge of the town in calm disregard of the German officers who had turned her little home into a headquarters while the new road was being made. For this, of course, was being done under the grim eye of the Military.

The havoc wrought by these little despots, minions of the great despot, in the simple abode of the poor old French couple, was eloquent of the whole Prussian system.

The officer whose heroic duty it was to oversee the women and girls slaving with pick and shovel had turned the little abode out of windows, to make it comfortable for himself and his guests, treating the furniture and all the little household gods with the same disdainful brutality that his masters had shown for Louvain Cathedral. The German instinct is always the same, whether it be on a small or a large scale—whether kicking furniture or blowing up hospitals.

Amid the ruins of her tidy little home, Madame Blondel lingered in undaunted proprietorship—the very spirit of gallant, indomitable France!

Perhaps, too, the bold entrance into these tyrant-ridden premises of the two American boys under the forbidding flag of Teuton authority, had something in it of the spirit of America. At least so Madame Blondel seemed to regard it; and when Tom showed her his little button she threw her arms around him, extending the area of her assault to Archer as well.

"Vive l'Amerique!" she cried, with a fine look of defiance in her snapping eyes.

She took the boys upstairs to a room—the only one, apparently, which she could call her own—and here they told her their story.

It appeared that for many years she had lived in America, where her husband had worked in a silk mill and she had kept a little road-house, tempting American autoists with French cooking and wine of Burgundy. She spoke English very well, save for a few charming little slips and notwithstanding that she was short and stout and wore spectacles, she was overflowing with the spirit of her beloved country, and with a weakness for adventure and romance which took Tom and Archer by storm. A true Frenchwoman indeed, defying with a noble heroism Time and Circumstance and vulgar trespasses under her very roof.

"So you will rescue Mam'selle," she said clasping her hands and pressing them to her breast with an inspiring look in her eyes. "So! This is America—how you say—in a nutshell. Yess?"

"It seems to me you're France in a nutshell," said Tom awkwardly, "and downstairs it's Germany in a nutshell."

"Ah-h-h!" She gave a fine shrug of disgust; "he have gone to Berlin. Tomorrow night late, his comrade will come—tomorrow night. So you are safe. And you are ze true knight—so! You will r-rescue Mam'selle," and she placed her two hands on Tom's shoulders, looking at him with delight, and ended by embracing him.

She seemed more interested in his rescuing "Mam'selle" than in anything else and that apparently because it was a bold adventure in gallantry. A true Frenchwoman indeed.

"She'd make a bully scoutmaster," Tom whispered to Archer.

"They might as well try to capturre the moon as put France out of business," said Archer.

Yes, big or little, man or woman, one or a million, in devastated home or devastated country, she is always the same, gallant, spirited, defiant. Vive la France!

While Madame Blondel plied them with food she told them the story of the new road—another shameless item in the wake of German criminality and dishonor.

"They will wait to see if Amerique can send her troops. They will trust zese submarines—so long. No more! All the while they make zis road—ozzer roads. Zere will be ze tramping of zese beasts over zese roads to little Switzerland yet!" she said, falling into the French manner in her anger. "So zey will stab her in ze back! Ug-g-g-gh!"

"Do you think that Florette and her mother are both there?" Tom asked.

"Ah," she said slyly; "you wish not that her mother should be there? So you will be ze true knight! Ah, you are a bad boy!"

To Tom's embarrassment she embraced him again, by way of showing that she was not altogether averse to bad boys.

"That ain't the way it is at all," he said flashing awkwardly. "I want to save 'em both. That's the only thing I'm thinking about."

"Ah," she laughed slyly, to Archer's delight. "You are a bad boy! Iss he not a bad boy? Yess?" She turned upon Archer. "Sixty years old I am, but still would I have so much happiness to be ze boy. See! Blondel and I, we run away to our marriage so many years ago. No one can catch us. So! Ziss is ze way—yess? Am I right?" She pointed her finger at poor Tom. "Ah, you are ze true knight! Even yet, maybe, you will fight ze duel—so! Listen! I will tell you how you will trrick ze Prussians."

This was getting down to business and much to Tom's relief though Archer had enjoyed the little scene hugely.

"See," she said more soberly. "I will tell you. Every young mam'selle must work—all are there. From north and south have they brought them. All! But not our older women. Like soldiers they must obey. Here to this very house come those that rebel—arrest! Some are sent back with—what you say? Reprimand. Some to prison. I cannot speak. My own countrywomen! Ug-gh! Zese wretches!"

"So now I shall see if you are true Americans." She looked straight at Tom, and even her homely spectacles did not detract from the fire that burned in her eyes. Here was a woman, who if she had but been a man, could have done anything. "I shall give you ze paper—all print. Ze warrant. You see?" She paused, throwing her head back with such a fine air of defiance that even her wrinkled face and homely domestic garb could not dim its glory. "You shall arrest Mam'selle! Here you shall bring her. See—listen! You know what our great Napoleon say? 'Across ze Alps lies Italee.' So shall you arrest Mam'selle!" She put her arm on Tom's shoulder and looked into his eyes with a kind of inspiring frenzy. "Close, so very close," she whispered significantly, "across ze Rhine lies Switzerland!"



CHAPTER XXXI

THE END OF THE TRAIL

Not in all the far-flung battleline was there a more pitiable sight than the bright sun beheld as he poured his stifling rays down upon the winding line of upturned earth which lay in fresh piles across the country of southern Alsace.

Almost to the Swiss border it ran, but no one could get across the Swiss border here without running into Prussian bayonets. To the east, where the Rhine flowed and where the mountains were, some reckless soul might manage it in a night's journeying, if he would brave the lonesome fastnesses; though even there the meshes of forbidding wire, charged with a death-giving voltage, stretched across the path. It was not an inviting route.



You may believe it or not, as you please, but along this new road score upon score of young women and mere girls toiled and slaved with pickaxe and shovel. And some fell and were lifted up again, with threats and imprecations, and toiled on. There were some who came from Belgium, whose hands had been cut off, and these were harnessed and drew stones. They lived, if you call it living, in tents and wooden barracks along the line of work, and in these they spent their few hours of respite in fearful, restless slumber.

Over them, like a black and threatening cloud, was the clenched, blood-wet iron fist. Now and then one broke down in hysterics and was "arrested" and taken before the commander who sprawled and drank wine in a peasant cottage nearby. For the road must be made and German militarism tolerates no nonsense....

Across the fields toward this road passed a young fellow in the uniform of a petty officer. He carried in his hand a paper and a pair of handcuffs. He was repeating to himself a phrase in the German language in which he had just been carefully drilled. "Wo ist sie?"

It was all the German that he knew.

Approaching the road, he passed along among the workers, who glanced up at him covertly and plied their implements a little harder for his presence. Coming upon a soldier who was marching back and forth on guard, the officer showed him the paper and said, "Wo ist sie?" The guard pointed farther down the line at another soldier, whom the officer approached and addressed with his one, newly-learned question. The second soldier scanned the workers under his charge, then made as if to take the paper and the handcuffs, but the officer held them from him with true German arrogance, intimating that all he wished was to have the worker identified and he would do the rest. He did not deign to speak to the soldier.

When the subject of his quest had been pointed out to him he strode over to her, with a motion of his hand bidding the soldier remain at his post. The girls, who were working ankle-deep in the thick earth, fell back as this grim embodiment of authority passed and stole fearful glances at him as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of one of their number who was throwing stones out of the roadway. She was a slender girl, almost too delicate for housework, one would have said, and her face bore an expression of utter listlessness—the listlessness that comes from long fatigue and lost hope. Her eyes had the startled, terror-stricken look of a frightened animal as she looked up into the face of the young officer.

"Don't speak and don't look surprised," he said in an undertone, as he snapped the handcuffs on her wrists. "I'm Tom Slade—don't you remember? You have to come with me and we'll take you across the Swiss border tonight. It's all planned. Don't talk and don't be scared. Answer low—Is your mother here?"

A heavy stone that she was holding fell and he could feel her shoulder trembling under his hand. She looked at him in doubtful recognition, for the face was grim and cold and there was a look of hard steel in the eyes. Then she glanced in terror at one of the soldiers who was marching back and forth, rifle in hand.

"He won't interfere—he won't even dare to salute me. If he comes near I'll knock him down. Is your mother here?"

"She iss wiz ze friends in Leteur. Her zey do not take."

Her voice was low and full of a terror which she seemed unable to overcome and as she looked fearfully about Tom was reminded of the night when they had talked together alone in the arbor.

"They didn't catch me yet and they won't," he said. "They're not scouts. Come on."

She followed him out of the upturned earth and down the line, where he strode like a lord of creation. Never so much as a glance did he deign to give a soldier. A few of the young women who dared to look up watched the two as they cut across a field and, whispering, some said her lot would be worse than she suspected—that her arrest was only a ruse.... They came nearer to the truth in that than they knew.

Others spoke enviously, saying that, whatever befell her, at least she would have a little rest. The more bold among them continued to steal covert glances as the two went across the field, and fell to work again with a better submission, noticing the overbearing demeanor of the brutal young officer who had arrested their companion.

"You are come again," she finally said timidly; "like ze good genii." It was difficult for her to speak, but Tom was willing for her to cry and seem agitated, for they were coming to houses now, where crippled soldiers sat about and children scurried, frightened, out of their path and called their mothers who came out to stare.

"My father—I may not yet talk——"

"Yes, you can talk now. I know all about it."

"Everything you know—you are wonderful. He told us how ze zheneral, he say, 'Lafayette, we are here!' And now you are here——"

"I told you you could sing the Marseillaise again," he said simply. "When we get over there, you can."

"You have come before zem, even," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "I cannot speak, you see, but some day ze Americans, zey will be here, and you are here ze first——"

"Don't try to talk," he said huskily. "Over in America we have girl scouts—kind of. They call 'em Camp Fire Girls. Some people make fun of 'em, but they can climb and they don't scream when they get in a boat, and they ain't afraid of the woods, and they don't care if it rains, and they ain't a-scared of noises, and all like that. You got to be one of them tonight. You got to be just like a feller—kind of. Even if you're tired you got to stick it out—just like France is doing."

"I am ze daughter of France," she said proudly, catching his meaning, "and you have come like America. Before, in Leteur, I was afraid. No more am I afraid. I will be ziss fiery camp girl—so!"

"Not fiery camp girl," said Tom dully; "Camp Fire Girl."

"So! I will be zat!"

"And tomorrow we'll be in Switzerland. And soon as we get across I'm going to make you sing the Marseillaise, so's when I get to Frenchy—Armand—I can tell him you sang it and nobody stopped you. You remember the other feller that was with me. He says we're going to take you to Armand as a souvenir. That's what he's always talking about—souvenirs."

* * * * *

It did not occupy much space in the American newspapers for there were more important things to relate. The English were circling around some ridge or other; the French were straightening out a salient, and the Germans had failed to surprise the Americans near Arracourt. The American airmen got the credit for that.

So there was only a brief account. "Two American Ship's Boys Reach France," heading said, and then followed this summary narrative as sent out by the Associated Press:

"Two American boys are reported to have reached General Pershing's forces in France, having escaped from a German prison camp and passed the Swiss frontier at an unfrequented spot after picking their way through the wilder section of the Black Forest in Baden. They subsisted chiefly on roots and grapes. Both are said to have been in the U.S. Transport Service. A despatch from Basel says that the Red Cross authorities are caring for a French Alsatian girl whom the fugitives rescued from German servitude by impersonating German military authorities. The details of their exploit are not given in the despatches.

"The American Y. M. C. A. at Nancy has no knowledge of such a girl being brought across the border and doubts the truth of this story, saying that such a rescue would be quite impossible. Another account says that the two boys upon reaching the American troops, notified a brother of the girl who was training with the expeditionary forces and that this brother was given a furlough to visit Molin, just below the Swiss frontier, where the girl was being cared for. This soldier's name is given as Armand Leteur. He is reported to have found his sister in a state of utter collapse from the treatment she had received while toiling on the roads in Alsace. One report has it that her wrist had been branded by a hot iron. The two youngsters are said to have chosen an unfrequented spot where the frontier crosses the mountains and to have manipulated the electrified barbed wire with a pair of rubber gloves which they had found in the wreck of a fallen German airship. The correspondent of the London Times says that one of these gloves has been sent to President Wilson by its proud possessor as a souvenir.

"Washington, Oct. 12.—Administration officials here have no knowledge of any rubber glove being received by President Wilson but say that the arrival of two boys, fugitives from Germany, has been officially reported by the military authorities in France and that they brought with them a letter taken from a dead German soldier which contained references to the impending German assault near Arracourt, thus enabling our men to anticipate and confound the Hun plans. Both of the boys, whose names are given as Archibald Slade and Thomas Archer, are now in training behind the American lines. A Thomas Slade is reported to have been in the steward's department of the Transport Montauk which was struck by a submarine last spring.

"Reuter's Agency confirms the story of the rescue of the girl and of her reunion with her brother."

THE END

———————————————————————————————————-

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH Author of the ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

The Tom Slade books have the official endorsement and recommendation of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA. In vivid story form they tell of Boy Scout ways, and how they help a fellow grow into a manhood of which America may be proud.

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT

Tom Slade lived in Barrel Alley. The story of his thrilling Scout experiences, how he was gradually changed from the street gangster into a First Class Scout, is told in almost as moving and stirring a way as the same narrative related in motion pictures.

TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP

The boys are at a summer camp in the Adirondack woods, and Tom enters heart and soul into the work of making possible to other boys the opportunities in woodcraft and adventure of which he himself has already had a taste.

TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER

A carrier pigeon falls into the camp of the Bridgeboro Troop of Boy Scouts. Attached to the bird's leg is a message which starts Tom and his friends on a search that culminates in a rescue and a surprising discovery. The boys have great sport on the river, cruising in the "Honor Scout."

TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS A WAR-TIME BOY SCOUT STORY

When Uncle Sam "pitches in" to help the Allies in the Great War, Tom's Boy Scout training makes it possible for him to show his patriotism in a way which is of real service to his country. Tom has many experiences that any loyal American boy would enjoy going through—or reading about, as the next best thing.

TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT

While working as a mess boy on one of Uncle Sam's big ships, Tom's cleverness enables him to be of service in locating a disloyal member of the crew. On his homeward voyage the ship is torpedoed and Tom is taken aboard a submarine and thence to Germany. He finally escapes and resolves to reach the American forces in France.

TOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERE

We follow Tom and his friend, Archer, on their flight from Germany, through many thrilling adventures, until they reach and join the American Army in France.

TOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARER

Tom is now a dispatch rider behind the lines and has some thrilling experiences in delivering important messages to troop commanders in France.

TOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPS

At last Tom realizes his dream to scout and fight for Uncle Sam in the air, and has such experiences as only the world war could make possible.

TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE

Tom has returned home and visits Temple Camp before the season opens. He builds three cabins and has many adventures.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH Author of the TOM SLADE BOOKS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

ROY BLAKELEY

In one of the books which Roy Blakeley and his patrol collect from a kindly old gentleman, in a book-drive for the soldiers, Pee-wee Harris discovers what he believes to be a sinister looking memorandum, and he becomes convinced that the old gentleman is a genuine spy. But the laugh is on Pee-wee, as usual, for the donor of the book turns out to be an author, and the suspicious memorandum is only a literary mark. The author, however, is so pleased with the boys' patriotism and amused at Pee-wee's zeal, that he loans them his houseboat, in which they make the trip up the Hudson to their beloved Temple Camp, which every boy who has read the TOM SLADE BOOKS will be glad to see once more.

ROY BLAKELEY'S ADVENTURES IN CAMP

Roy Blakeley and his patrol are found in this book once more happily established in camp. A rivalry between the Silver Foxes and the other patrols springs up in the quest for Spruce and Black Walnut for which the government is in need. Roy and his friends incur the wrath of a land owner, but the doughty Pee-wee saves the situation and the wealthy landowner as well, when he guides him out of the deep forest where he has lost himself. The boys wake up one morning to find Black Lake flooded far over its banks, and the solving of this mystery furnishes some exciting reading.

ROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDER

Roy and his rusty comrades having come to Temple Camp by water, resolve that they will make the journey home by foot. On the way they capture a leopard escaped from a circus, which exciting adventure brings about an amusing acquaintance with the strange people who belong to the traveling show. The boys are instrumental in solving a deep mystery, and finding among the show people one who has long been missing and for whom search has been made the country over.

ROY BLAKELEY'S CAMP ON WHEELS

This is the story of the wild and roaming career of a ramshackle old railroad car which has been given ROY and his companions for a troop meeting place. The boys who have spent a hard day cleaning and repairing the car, fall asleep in it. In the darkness of the night, and by a singular error of the railroad people, the car is "taken up" by a freight train and instead of being left at a designated point several miles below, is carried westward, so that when the boys awake in the morning they find themselves in a country altogether strange and new. The story tells of the many and exciting adventures in this car as it journeys from place to place.

ROY BLAKELEY'S SILVER FOX PATROL

In the car which Roy Blakeley and his friends have for a meeting place is discovered an old faded letter, dating from the Klondike gold days, and it appears to intimate the location of certain bags of gold, buried by a train robber who had held up a train bringing passengers home from the Canadian Northwest. The quest for this treasure is made in an automobile and the strange adventures on this trip constitute the story.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW SERIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Neltje Blanchan. Illustrated

EARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

FOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

HEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Coedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate Stephens

HYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon

LEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

MYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie

OPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated

POEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt

PROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt

SONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon

TREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Jean M. Thompson. Illustrated

WILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated

WILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Frederic William Stack. Illustrated

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

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EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY BOY SCOUT EDITION SIMILAR TO THIS VOLUME

The Boy Scouts of America in making up this Library, selected only such books as had been proven by a nation-wide canvass to be most universally in demand among the boys themselves. Originally published in more expensive editions only, they are now, under the direction of the Scout's National Council, re-issued at a lower price so that all boys may have the advantage of reading and owning them. It is the only series of books published under the control of this great organization, whose sole object is the welfare and happiness of the boy himself. For the first time in history a guaranteed library is available, and at a price so low as to be within the reach of all.

ALONG THE MOHAWK TRAIL Percy K. Fitzhugh

ANIMAL HEROES ERNEST Thompson Seton

BABY ELTON, QUARTER-BACK Leslie W. Quirk

BARTLEY, FRESHMAN PITCHER William Heyliger

BE PREPARED, THE BOY SCOUTS IN FLORIDA A. W. Dimock

BEN-HUR Lew Wallace

BOAT-BUILDING AND BOATING Dan. Beard

THE BOY SCOUTS OF BLACK EAGLE PATROL Leslie W. Quirk

THE BOY SCOUTS OF BOB'S HILL Charles Pierce Burton

THE BOYS' BOOK OF NEW INVENTIONS Harry E. Maule

BUCCANEERS AND PIRATES OF OUR COASTS Frank R. Stockton

THE CALL OF THE WILD Jack London

CATTLE RANCH TO COLLEGE Russell Doubleday

COLLEGE YEARS Ralph D. Paine

CROOKED TRAILS Frederic Remington

THE CRUISE OF THE CACHALOT Frank T. Bullen

THE CRUISE OF THE DAZZLER Jack London

DANNY FISTS Walter Camp

FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL Ralph Henry Barbour

A GUNNER ABOARD THE "YANKEE" From the Diary of Number Five of the After Port Gun

THE HALF-BACK Ralph Henry Barbour

HANDBOOK FOR BOYS, Revised Edition Boy Scouts of America

HANDICRAFT FOR OUTDOOR BOYS Dan. Beard

THE HORSEMEN OF THE PLAINS Joseph A. Altsheler

JEB HUTTON; THE STORY OF A GEORGIA BOY James B. Connolly

THE JESTER OF ST. TIMOTHY'S Arthur Stanwood Pier

JIM DAVIS John Masefield

KIDNAPPED Robert Louis Stevenson

LAST OF THE CHIEFS Joseph A. Altsheler

LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN Zane Grey

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS James Fenimore Cooper

A MIDSHIPMAN IN THE PACIFIC Cyrus Townsend Brady

PITCHING IN A PINCH Christy Mathewson

RANCHE ON THE OXHIDE Henry Inman

REDNEY MCGAW; A CIRCUS STORY FOR BOYS Arthur E. McFarlane

THE SCHOOL DAYS OF ELLIOTT GRAY, Jr. Colton Maynard

SCOUTING WITH DANIEL BOONE Everett T. Tomlinson

THREE YEARS BEHIND THE GUNS Lieu Tisdale

TOMMY REMINGTON'S BATTLE Burton E. Stevenson

TECUMSEH'S YOUNG BRAVES Everett T. Tomlinson

TOM STRONG, WASHINGTON'S SCOUT Alfred Bishop Mason

TO THE LAND OF THE CARIBOU Paul Greene Tomlinson

TREASURE ISLAND Robert Louis Stevenson

20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA Jules Verne

UNGAVA BOB; A TALE OF THE FUR TRAPPERS Dillon Wallace

WELLS BROTHERS; THE YOUNG CATTLE KINGS Andy Adams

WILLIAMS OF WEST POINT Hugh S. Johnson

THE WIRELESS MAN; HIS WORK AND ADVENTURES Francis A. Collins

THE WOLF HUNTERS George Bird Grinnell

THE WRECKING MASTER Ralph D. Paine

YANKEE SHIPS AND YANKEE SAILORS James Barnes

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

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THE CHILDREN'S CRIMSON SERIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

The Editors; and What the Children's Crimson Series Offers Your Child

In the first place, "The Children's Crimson Series" is designed to please and interest every child, by reason of the sheer fascination of the stories and poems contained therein.

To accomplish such an end, a vast amount of patient labor, a rare judgment, a life-long study of children, and a genuine love for all that is best in literature, are essential factors of success.

Kate Douglas Wiggin (Mrs. Riggs) and Nora Archibald Smith possess these qualities and this experience. Their efforts, as pioneers of kindergarten work, the love and admiration in which their works are held by all young people, prove them to be in full sympathy with this unique piece of work.

Let all parents, who wish their little ones to have their minds and tastes developed along the right paths, remember that once a child is interested and amused, the rest is comparatively easy. Stories and poems so admirably selected, cannot then but sow the seeds of a real literary culture, which must be encouraged in childhood if it is ever to exercise a real influence in life.

Edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith

THE FAIRY RING: Fairy Tales for Children 4 to 8

MAGIC CASEMENTS: Fairy Tales for Children 6 to 12

TALES OF LAUGHTER: Fairy Tales for Growing Boys and Girls

TALES OF WONDER: Fairy Tales that Make One Wonder

PINAFORE PALACE: Rhymes and Jingles for Tiny Tots

THE POSY RING: Verses and Poems that Children Love and Learn

GOLDEN NUMBERS: Verses and Poems for Children and Grown-ups

THE TALKING BEASTS: Birds and Beasts in Fable Edited by Asa Don Dickinson

CHRISTMAS STORIES: "Read Us a Story About Christmas" Edited by Mary E. Burt and W. T. Chapin

STORIES AND POEMS FROM KIPLING: "How the Camel Got His Hump," and other Stories.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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THE TOM SWIFT SERIES By VICTOR APPLETON

UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING. INDIVIDUAL COLORED WRAPPERS.

These spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. Stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS

TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE

TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON

TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL

TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

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Transcriber's Notes

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 2. Rolling r's are indicated by repeating the letter, for example from page 140 in the line: "We're herre because we're herre," he said, in a perfect riot of rolling R's.

THE END