took her or what they'll make her do, but
anybody could see she didn't have any muscle. Whenever I think of her
I'll fight harder, that's one sure thing."

For a few moments he could hardly command himself as he contemplated
this tragic end of the broken home. Florette, whom he had seen but
yesterday, had been taken away--away from her home, probably from her
beloved Alsace, to enforced labor for the Teuton tyrant. He recalled her
slender form as she hurried through the darkness ahead of them, her
gentle apology for their poor reception, her wistful memories of her
brother as she showed them their hiding-place, her touching grief and
apprehension as she stood talking with him under the trellis....

And now she was gone and awful thoughts of her peril and suffering
welled up in Tom's mind.

He looked at the stark figure and white, staring face of old Pierre and
thought of the impetuous embrace the old man had given him. He thought
of his friend, Frenchy. And the mother--where was she? Good people, kind
people; trying in the menacing shadow of the detestable Teuton beast to
keep their flickering home fire burning. And this was the end of it.

Most of all, he thought of Florette and her wistful, fearful look
haunted him. "_Maybe for ze great Krupps_"--the phrase lingered in his
mind and he stood there appalled at the realization of this awful,
unexplained thing which had happened.

Then Tom Slade did something which his scout training had taught him to
do, while Archer, tremulous and unstrung, stood awkwardly by, watching.
He knelt down over the lifeless form of the old man and straightened the
prostrate figure so that it lay becomingly and decently upon the hard
floor. He bent the one arm and laid it across the breast in the usual
posture of dignity and peace. He took the threadbare covering from the
old melodeon and placed it over the face. So that the last service for
old Pierre Leteur was performed by an American boy; and at least the
ashes of the home fire were left in order by a scout from far across the
seas.

"It's part of first aid," explained Tom quietly, as he rose; "I learned
how at Temple Camp."

Archer said nothing.

"When a scout from Maryland died up there, I saw how they did it."

"You got to thank the scouts for a lot," said Archer; "forr trackin' an'
trailin'----"

"'Tain't on account of them," said Tom, his voice breaking a little,
"it's on account of her----"

And he kneeled again to arr