lain some more, but
Freddy beat him to the punch. The young English boy suddenly stepped
forward and a stream of words poured from his thin lips. He had lived
many years on the Continent and he knew how to deal with either the
French or the Belgians.

"Listen to me, you lugger heads!" he ranted at them. "My friend speaks
the truth. We have just escaped from Germany, and we have important
information. Take us to your commanding officer at once, do you hear? Do
we look like Germans? Of course not! Where are your heads, your brains?
Have you not seen us risk our lives trying to reach this side of the
lines? Take us to your commanding officer. He may even recommend you for
a medal. You hear me? Take us to your commanding officer or I shall make
a personal complaint to the Commander in Chief of British Army Staff,
General Caldwell. Attention, at once! Take us to your commanding
officer, _now!_"

Grins slowly appeared on the faces of the battle wearied Belgian
soldiers. The corporal chuckled and lowered his bayonet from Dave's
throat.

"The little one spits fire when he speaks," he murmured and nodded his
head. "No, I do not believe now that you are Germans. But you had a very
lucky escape, my two little ones. We do not feel very pleased today. Nor
will we be happy for a long time to come, I am afraid. It looks bad,
very bad. Come! I will take you to my Lieutenant."

"It looks bad?" Freddy asked quickly. "Can't you hold them? Aren't the
British and the French helping?"

The Belgian corporal shrugged and wiped his tired eyes with a dirt and
mud smeared hand.

"It is possible," he grunted. "I do not know. We hear very little except
the guns and those cursed bombs. But, there are no British or French
here. Only Belgians. And we cannot stop them. We have not the men, or
the guns, or the tanks. And planes? Where are all our planes? Look at
the sky! It is filled with nothing but Boche planes. Yes, my little one,
it looks very bad. But we are not afraid to die. No!"

The soldier shrugged again, then nodded with his head and started
trudging back across the field, trailing his rifle as though it weighed
a ton instead of a few pounds or so. Freddy and Dave dropped into step
with the others and went along. Nobody spoke. Nobody but the bombs and
the shells but a few miles away, and rapidly drawing closer. Dave leaned
toward Freddy.

"Boy, can you dish out their language!" he breathed. "But I don't blame
them. They must have b