he distance and thought his thoughts about the
war that had apparently begun in earnest. He was an American and America
was neutral, of course. Yet after what he'd seen this day he was filled
with a burning desire to do something to help beat back Hitler and
defeat him. He knew that there had been a lot of boys his age who had
taken part in the last World War. He was big for his age, too, and
strong as an ox. He decided that when he got to London and found his
father he would ask Dad if there wasn't something he could do to help.
Nothing else seemed important, now. The important thing was to help stop
all this business that was taking place in Europe.

At that moment Freddy Farmer suddenly slipped the car out of gear and
braked it to a stop.

"Yes, Freddy?"

"I'm afraid I've got us into a bit of a mess, Dave," he said. "To be
truthful, we are lost. I really haven't the faintest where we are. You
must think me a fine mug for this. I'm frightfully sorry, really."

"Wait a minute!" Dave cried out. "Here comes a car. It sounds like a
truck. Gee, what a racket!"

A pair of headlights was rapidly approaching along the road that led off
to the right. They bounced up and down because of the uneven surface,
and the banging noise of the engine made Dave think of a threshing
machine. On impulse he and Freddy Farmer moved out into the glow of the
ambulance's lights and began waving their arms. The truck or car, or
whatever it was, bore down upon them and finally came to a halt with the
grinding and clashing of gears.

"Come on, Dave, we'll find out, now!" Freddy said and trotted into the
twin beams of light.

Dave dropped into step at his side, and they had traveled but a few
yards when a harsh voice suddenly stopped them in their tracks.

"Halt!"

The two boys stood motionless, their eyes blinking into the light. Dave
heard Freddy Farmer catch his breath in a sharp gasp. He suddenly
realized that for some unknown reason his own heart was pounding
furiously, and there was a peculiar dryness in his throat. At that
moment he heard hobnailed boots strike the surface of the road. The
figure of a soldier came into the light. On his head was a bucket shaped
helmet, and in his hands was a wicked looking portable machine gun. He
moved forward in a cautious way, and then Dave was able to see his
uniform. His heart seemed to turn to ice in his chest, and his hands
suddenly felt very cold and damp.

He was looking straight at a G