rtable accommodations had been
prepared for him. Also he was to have as his companion, a personal
friend, Sergeant Donald Hackett an exception being made to the
sergeant's living in the same house with his commanding officer.

The household in which the two young Americans were located was one of
the many households at this time in Germany whose state of mind it would
have been difficult for any outsider to have understood or explained.

The head of the family, Colonel Otto Liedermann, was an old man, now
past seventy, who had once been a member of the Kaiser's own guard. His
son, Captain Ludwig Liedermann had been seriously wounded six months
before the close of the war, and, although at present in his own home,
was still said to be too ill to leave his apartment. There was one grown
daughter, Hedwig, who must have been a little over twenty years of age.
The second wife, Frau Liedermann, was much younger than her husband, and
her children were two charming little girls, Freia and Gretchen, who
were but six and eight years old.

Outwardly the German family was apparently hospitably disposed to their
enemy guests, although they made no pretence of too great friendliness.
They saw that the Americans were cared for, that their food was well
cooked and served. Yet only the two little girls, Freia and Gretchen,
possessed of no bitter memories, were disposed to be really friendly.

And in boyish, American fashion, the two young officers, who were
slightly embarrassed by living among a family with whom they had so
lately been at war, returned the attitude of admiration and cordiality
of the little German maids.

Freia was a slender, grave little girl with sunshiny hair and large,
soft blue eyes, and Gretchen like her, only smaller and stouter with two
little yellow pigtails, and dimples, in her pink cheeks.

One afternoon Major Jimmie Hersey was sitting alone in a small parlor
devoted to his private use and staring at a picture on the mantel.

His work for the day was over, the drill hour was past and the soldiers,
save those on special leave, had returned to their barracks.

One could scarcely have said that the young American officer was
homesick, for there is something really more desolate than this
misfortune. He was without a home anywhere in the world for which he
could be lonely. An only son, his mother had died when he had been six
months in France.

It was true that he had a sister to whom he was warmly attac