oat was over his
shoulders, while his bare feet were thrust into a pair of heavily
nailed boots, which had been cleaned perhaps a year before. There was
no hat on his head, and, thanks to his swim in the river, his
hair--which had grown excessively long in Ruhleben--hung lankly over
his eyes and forehead, producing altogether an appearance not very
uncommon in the country. To be very precise, if not complimentary, we
must admit that the usually debonair and dapper Henri looked like the
village idiot at that moment; while his astonishment, causing his mouth
to open, gave his face a vacant expression which matched well with his
appearance.

"Ho, you at the door, and at the very right moment! What's this?
Bring a light and throw it on him. Heavens! What a scarecrow!
Where's your master, lad; and where are you going?"

A big, burly man, a non-commissioned officer, one of the staff at
Ruhleben, barred Henri's progress, and, snatching the lantern which one
of his men carried, held it over the youth he had accosted and surveyed
him closely.

[Illustration: A big, burly man, a non-commissioned officer, one of the
staff at Ruhleben, barred Henri's progress. (missing from book)]

"Baskets--eh? And full of provender--beer and sausages and bread--well
I never!" gasped the Sergeant. "Who may you be, my lad? And where's
your master? That's a question you haven't answered, and, besides,
who's all this stuff for? Good food and drink, and going outside the
farm-house!"

He lowered his lamp and threw the rays of light on to the baskets and
their contents, while his hungry eyes fixed themselves upon the
sausages. Henri giggled. Intuitively he realized that he must indeed
look like a scarecrow, and, employing his quick wits, that French
perception which led him so quickly to realize the situation, he
determined to act up to it. Not that he felt much inclined to giggle
or ready for mirth; for, indeed, he was almost trembling with
agitation. At any moment the door of the kitchen might be burst open
by the farmer himself, and he would be discovered. The Sergeant had,
indeed, spoken in the loudest tones--in those rough, bullying,
spluttering tones so common to German sergeants, so loudly that he had
drowned the sound of the organ beyond and the voice of the woman who
was singing. Henri suppressed a shiver, giggled inanely again, and
listened for sounds from the far part of the farm-house. Yes, he could
hear the organ s