l and his hand
went to his cap in salute. He even rose, and, before Ruth looked
around and spied the occasion for this, she knew it must foretell the
approach of an officer of importance.

Coming along the road (he had been sheltered from her gaze before by
the laden wagon) was a French officer in a very brilliant uniform.
Ruth gasped aloud; she knew him at a glance.

It was Major Henri Marchand, in the full panoply of a dress uniform,
although he was on foot. He acknowledged M. Lafrane's salute
carelessly and did not see the girl at all. He walked directly into
the yard surrounding the cottage. The corporal of the American squad
was saying:

"I am sorry for you, _ma mere_. But we cannot wait now. You should
have been ready for us. You have had forty-eight hours' notice."

The old countrywoman was quite enraged. She began to vilify the
Americans most abominably. Ruth suddenly heard her say that the
Abelards had been rooted here for generations. She refused to go for
all the soldiers in the world!

Then she shrieked again as she saw the men bringing out her best bed.
Major Marchand took a hand in the matter.

"_Tante_," he said quietly, "I am sorry for you. But these men are in
the right. The high authorities have said you must go. All your
neighbors are going. It is for _la patrie_. These are bitter times
and we must all make sacrifices. Come, now, you must depart."

Ruth wondered at his quiet, yet forceful, manner. The corporal stood
back, thankful to have the disagreeable duty taken out of his hands.
And the American girl wondered, too, at the respect Monsieur Lafrane
had shown this French officer. Had he saluted the uniform, or was
Major Marchand a very important personage? Her brain was in a whirl of
doubt.

CHAPTER XIV

MORE SACRIFICES THAN ONE

Monsieur Lafrane had stepped out of the automobile, although the wagon
had now been backed so that the car could have easily passed. Its
engine was still throbbing.

Ruth Fielding was giving her full attention to the little scene at the
hencoop.

The tall, handsome major in his beautiful uniform made little
impression upon the old woman. She backed away from him, pressing
closer to the lathe coop.

"No, no! I will not come. My pullets--they will starve," she
reiterated endlessly.

"But the Germans may be coming," the major said patiently. "They will
kill your pullets and eat them."

"They did not do so before when they cam