little figure started out.

Tam saw the rifle in his hand and caught the glitter of a bayonet.

"You English?" said a voice.

"Scotch," said Tam severely.

"Aha!" There was a note of exultation. "You English-escaped prisoner! I
haf you arrested and with me to the Commandant of Camp 74 you shall go."

"Is it English ye're speakin'?" said Tam.

The little man came closer to him. He stood four feet three and he was
very fat. He wore no uniform, and was evidently one of those patriotic
souls who undertake spare-time guard duty. His presence was explained by
his greeting. Some men had escaped from the German prison-camp seven
miles away and he was one of the sentries who were watching the road.

"You come mit me, _vorwaerts_!"

Tam obeyed meekly and stepped out to the hut.

"I keep you here. Presently the _Herr Leutnant_ will come and you shall
go back."

He walked into the hut and waited in silence while the little man struck
a match and lit an oil-lamp. The sentry fixed the glass chimney and
turned to face the muzzle of Tam's automatic pistol.

"Sit down, ma wee frien'," said Tam; "let ma take that gun away from ye
before ye hairt yeersel'--maircifu' Heavens!"

He was staring at the little man, but it was not the obvious terror of
the civilian which fascinated him, it was the big, white, unshaven face,
the long upper lip, and the low corrugated brow under the
stiff-bristling hair, the small twinkling eyes, and the broad, almost
animal, nose that held him for a moment speechless.

"Hector O'Brien!" gasped Tam, and almost lost his grasp of the situation
in the discovery of this amazing likeness. "A' thought ye was dead,"
said Tam. "Oh, Hector, we have missed ye!"

The little man, his shaking hands uplifted, could only chatter
incoherently. It needed this to complete the resemblance to the deceased
mascot of One-Three-One.

"Ma puir wee man," said Tam, as he scientifically tied the hands of his
prisoner, "so the Gairmans got ye after all."

"You shall suffer great punishment," his prisoner was spurred by fear to
offer a protest. "Presently the _Herr Leutnant_ will come with his
motor-car."

"God bless ye for those encouraging words," said Tam. "Now will ye tell
me how many soldiers are coming along?"

"Four--six--" began the prisoner.

"Make it ten," said Tam, examining the magazine of his pistol. "A' can
manage wi' ten, but if there's eleven, A' shall have to fight 'im in a
vulgar way wi' ma fists. Ye