arefully around, in
expectation of again locating the wandering lights. Then Josh uttered a
low gasp, as his fingers plucked at Rod's sleeve.

"Looky there, will you, Rod?" he whispered, intensely excited; "they've
run across the potato bin, and are going to take a peep inside!"

"Oh! my stars! it's all up with our poor wheels then!" Hanky Panky was
heard to tell the others, though no one seemed to pay the slightest
attention to him.

There was no doubt about the situation being grave. The lights had by
this time vanished within the vegetable cellar that had been built
underground for frost protection in the cold winters.

"Come; let's creep forward and see what's happening," suggested Rod
boldly, as though after all he began to have slight hopes that it might
not be quite as bad as they had been thinking.

As they advanced hurriedly they soon began to catch the sound of several
voices. Evidently the searchers had been amazed to discover three such
splendid motorcycles hidden away in a potato cellar on this farm; this
was hardly what they had been looking for when using their lanterns so
industriously.

"Too bad, too bad it had to happen!" whimpered the disconsolate Hanky
Panky, for he had become so accustomed to spinning along on his reliable
machine that the prospect of using "Shank's mare" as a means of
progressing did not appeal to him at all.

"Don't worry!" Rod told him, "but listen again."

"What's the use?" complained the other, "when I can't understand a
single word of what's said, because it's French they're using."

"French!" echoed Josh, a little louder than prudence might have
dictated, though in his new excitement he evidently did not consider
that; "why, then after all it isn't the Germans who've come snooping
around looking for us."

"What are they saying, Rod?" asked Hanky Panky.

"Asking each other who can be the owners of these wonderful machines,"
replied Rod, at the same time taking a step forward, as though meaning
to enter the potato cave.

"Messieurs," he said, "pardon me, but those machines belong to us; and
we are friends of France, we beg you to believe."

CHAPTER X.

MORE NEWS FROM THE FRONT.

Three men who wore the uniforms of French soldiers, one of whom was
evidently a lieutenant, looked hastily up when Rod entered the vegetable
cellar, and addressed them in the words we have given. The ordinary
soldiers carried guns, and these weapons they half raised, as though