made him lose his balance. "Well, as long as we've
got the Big Dipper," said he, "and as long as the water's pure, what
d'you say we all go and have a drink--in honor of Paul Revere?"

So it was that presently Tom and Roscoe found themselves sitting alone
upon the fence in the darkness. Neither spoke. In the distance they
could hear the muffled boom of some isolated field-piece, belching forth
its challenge in the night. High overhead there was a whirring, buzzing
sound as a shadow glided through the sky where the stars shone
peacefully. A company of boys in khaki, carrying intrenching implements,
passed by, greeting them cheerily as they trudged back from doing their
turn in digging the new trench line which would embrace Cantigny.

Cantigny!

"I'm glad we took the town, that's one sure thing," Tom said.

"It's the first good whack we've given them," agreed Roscoe.

Again there was silence. In the little house across the road a light
burned. Little did Tom Slade know what was going on there, and what it
would mean to him. And still the American boys guarding this approach
down into the town, moved to and fro, to and fro, in the darkness.

"Tom," said Roscoe, "I was a fool again, just like I was before, back
home in America. Will you try to forget it, old man?" he added.

"There ain't anything to forget," said Tom, "I got to be thankful I
found you; that's the only thing I'm thinking about and--and--that we
didn't let the Germans get us. If you like a feller you don't mind about
what he says. Do you think I forget you named that rifle after me? Just
because--because you didn't know about trusting to the stars,--I
wouldn't be mad at you----"

Roscoe did not answer.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TOM IS QUESTIONED

When it became known in the captured village (as it did immediately)
that the tall prisoner whom Tom Slade had brought in, was none other
than the famous Major Johann Slauberstrauffn von Piffinhoeffer,
excitement ran high in the neighborhood, and the towheaded young
dispatch-rider from the Toul sector was hardly less of a celebrity than
the terrible Prussian himself. "Paul Revere" and his compass became the
subjects of much mirth, touched, as usual, with a kind of bantering
evidence of genuine liking.

In face of all this, Tom bestowed all the credit on Roscoe (it would be
hard to say why), and on Archibald Archer and the Big Dipper.

"Now that we've got the Big Dipper with us we ought to be able to