lived I'll eat my helmet!"

So they took the cupboard door from its hinges, wrapped the body of
the dead woman carefully in the tattered blankets from her bed, and
laid it on the improvised stretcher.

"We should leave some sort of word as to what we are doing," said Bob.
"Suppose some of her folks come back and do not find any trace of her?
They might never know of her death."

"When we find a place to bury her we will find someone to whom we can
tell her story, so much as we know of it," answered Dicky. "Perhaps
we might even find a priest to help lay her away."

Thus, without definite plan except to beam their lifeless burden to
some decent burial ground, the boys set out. They had not proceeded
far along the lane that led away from the house when they heard voices.
They plodded on, and passed a group of persons whom they took to be
Germans from the deep gutturals in which they spoke. They were close
to this group, too close for comfort, but passed unobserved in the
gathering darkness.

For half an hour they bore the dead woman, passing houses at times,
shrouded invariably in darkness. At last they came to a town. German
soldiers were in evidence there, in numbers, but took no notice of
the two bent forms bearing the stretcher. Bob, who was leading,
bumped into a man in the dark.

"_Pardon_," said the man.

"_Pardon, monsieur_," replied Bob at once.

This was met with a soft-voiced assurance, in French that it was
of no consequence, the remark concluding with the words, "_mon fils_."

"Are you the Father?" Bob blurted out in English.

"Yes," came in low tones in return. "I am Pere Marquee, my son. Say
no more. You may be overheard. Follow me."

Around a corner, down a lane went Pere Marquee, the boys following with
their strange load. Once well clear of the main street, the Father
stopped.

"Speak slowly," he said. "I understand your language but imperfectly,
my son."

Whereupon Bob promptly told him, in few words, of their quest. He
told him, too, that they were American aviators in imminent danger
of capture.

"Bring the poor woman this way," said the priest. He led them to
a house which he entered without knocking, and asked them to enter.
They took the dead woman into a room occupied by two old ladies,
and set down their load as Pere Marquee hurriedly told the short
story he had heard from Bob.

Dicky was nearest to the priest as he finished speaking and turned
to the boys. The