ory examination, ordered him buried with the rest.
The man had enough life left in him to raise his hand in appeal but the
doctor shrugged his shoulder and repeated his order. There were many
incidents, most of them horrible. The man who told the story seemed
still dazed and spoke quietly, with few adjectives and little emphasis
on anything he said. It was a bare recital of facts, and far more moving
than if he had striven for effect.

Davis got back yesterday from his trip to the front, and we learned that
he had been through a perfectly good experience that will look well when
he comes to writing it up, but one that gave him little satisfaction
while it was in progress. He started off to follow the German army in
the hope of locating the English. After leaving Hal, some bright young
German officer decided that he was a suspicious-looking character, and
ought to be shot as an English spy. As a preliminary, they arrested him
and locked him up. Then the war was called off while the jury sat on
his case. One of the officers thought it would be a superfluous effort
to go through the form of trying him, but that they should shoot him
without further to do. They began considering his case at eleven in the
morning, and kept it up until midnight. He was given pretty clearly to
understand that his chances were slim, and that the usual fate of spies
awaited him. He argued at length, and apparently his arguments had some
effect, for at three o'clock in the morning he was routed out and told
to hit the road toward Brussels. He was ordered to keep religiously to
the main road all the way back, on pain of being shot on sight, and to
report at headquarters here immediately on his arrival. By this time he
was perfectly willing to do exactly what was demanded by those in
authority, and made a bee-line back here on foot. He turned up at the
Legation yesterday morning, footsore and weary, and looking like a
tramp, and told his story to an admiring audience. I was still away on
my little jaunt, and did not get it at first hand. The Minister took him
down to call on the General, and got them to understand that Richard
Harding Davis was not an English spy, but, on the contrary, probably the
greatest writer that ever lived, not excepting Shakespeare or Milton.
The General said he had read some of his short stories, and that he
would not have him shot. Just the same, he was not keen about having him
follow the operations. He is now ordered to