from the jolt. He started away
without, as yet, having a clear idea as to which was the right
direction for him to take. The boy dodged from bush to bush and,
reaching a hedge, bored his way through it and skulked along the other
side of it, dragging the rifle behind him, the German helmet tightly
clutched under one arm.

"'Where am I? Ah! The village is to the left. I must turn back and
start again,' he decided. This was risky, but there seemed no other
course for him to follow. Retracing his steps for some distance he
finally struck off in the right direction. When he came in sight of
the stream he discovered that the bridge was so far away that he could
not hope to reach it without being discovered.

"'But Francois can swim,' he told himself. 'He shall yet fool the
Prussians. Look out! There they go!' German soldiers already were
running toward the bridge, and he knew that his escape had been
discovered. He believed, however, that he was far enough away so they
would not see him.

"Francois swung the rifle over his shoulder and secured it there by
its carrying strap, jammed the helmet tightly over his head and rolled
down the bank into the river. The water was warm and the child was
full of joy that he had outwitted his captors.

"Fortunately the river was not wide at this point, and on the opposite
side was plenty of cover in the way of trees and bushes. But discovery
came at about the time he reached the middle of the river. The sun,
reflected from his bright metal helmet, had attracted the attention of
the soldiers. A bullet splashed in the water to the right of him.

"'Huh!' he grunted. 'The Boches cannot shoot. Francois could shoot as
good as that with his eyes shut. Bah! Shoot again.' O-u-c-h! A bullet
had gone through the helmet, so low that it raked the top of his head.
It felt like a red-hot iron being drawn across the top of his head,
and made his head swim dizzily.

"'It was a chance shot,' observed the boy. 'No Boche could shoot so
true on purpose. I shall yet fool them.'

"Reaching the opposite shore he ran up the bank, not trying to conceal
himself there. A bullet struck him in the shoulder, spun him around
and laid him flat on the ground. He was on his feet almost instantly,
shaking a fist at the Germans.

"'Shoot! I fear not your bullets,' he shouted. The boy then ran
skulking from shrub to shrub until he reached the forest, into which
he dashed. Both wounds were by now bleeding freely and