ht of the arbor.

"What do you wish here?" old Pierre demanded in French, never relaxing
his military air.

The stranger leaned wearily against the arbor, panting, and even in the
dusk they could see that he was young and very ragged, and with the
whiteness of fear and apprehension in his face and his staring eyes.

"You German? French?" he panted.

"We are French," said Florette, rising. "I can speak ze Anglaise a
leetle."

"You are not German?" the visitor repeated as if relieved.

"Only we are Zherman subjects, yess. Our name ees Leteur."

"I am--American. My name--is Tom Slade. I escaped from the prison across
there. My--my pal escaped with me----"

The girl looked pityingly at him and shook her head while her parents
listened curiously. "We are sorry," she said, "so sorry; but you were
not wise to escape. We cannot shelter you. We are suspect already."

"I have brought you news of Armand," said Tom. "I can't--can't talk. We
ran----Here, take this. He--he gave it to me--on the ship."

He handed Florette a little iron button, which she took with a trembling
hand, watching him as he clutched the arbor post.

"From Armand? You know heem?" she asked, amazed. "You are American?"

"He's American, too," said Tom, "and he's with General Pershing in
France. We're goin' to join him if you'll help us."

For a moment the girl stared straight at him, then turning to her father
she poured out such a volley of French as would have staggered the grim
authorities of poor Alsace. What she said the fugitive could not
imagine, but presently old Pierre stepped forward and, throwing his one
arm about the neck of the young American, kissed him several times with
great fervor.

Tom Slade was not used to being kissed by anybody and he was greatly
abashed. However, it might have been worse. What would he ever have
done if the girl who spoke English in such a hesitating, pretty way had
taken it into _her_ head to kiss him?

CHAPTER III

TOM'S STORY

"You needn't be afraid," said Tom; "we didn't leave any tracks; we came
across the fields--all the way from the crossroads down there. We
crawled along the fence. There ain't any tracks. I looked out for that."

Pausing in suspense, yet encouraged by their expectant silence, he spoke
to some one behind him in the bushes and there emerged a young fellow
quite as ragged as himself.

"It's all right," said Tom confidently, and apparently in great relief.
"It's them."