ght to the yard. Had it been, it would have been burnt with the
house. The turnips and the mangolds are still in the field, badly
trampled, but not destroyed. Oh yes, it might have been worse, much
worse--with us. Thank God, we had no daughter at the house."

"Why do you thank God for that?"

"Need you ask, monsieur? Those Germans are devils, devils! Ah, here
is Jules Viney; let him tell you what he has had to suffer."

And then an elderly man told a story which I will not here set down.
It was too horrible, too heart-rending. Bob's heart sickened as he
heard it, and he found his teeth becoming set as he vowed to fight long
as God gave him breath.

"She was but little more than a child, either," cried the man, who was
trembling with passion, "and had only a year or two ago made her First
Communion. As fair and as pure a child as ever God made. But, thank
God, she is dead!"

"Dead?"

"Dead, yes! How could she live after those devils from the deepest
hell---- But she took her own life, and she is with the saints."

"And this is the fruits of the German culture, when it is overruled by
the War God," thought Bob. "Great God, I did not believe that these
stories could be true!"

About two o'clock the train stopped at a siding, where an official told
them they must remain for at least an hour.

"Things have been terrible here," said the man; "a terrible battle was
fought all around," and he waved his arms significantly.

"Let's get out," said Bob. "I see some trenches over yonder. I
remember reading about an engagement here."

A few minutes later they were face to face with evidences of battle.
The whole country-side was devastated. Everything had been swept away
by the hordes who breathed out death. Sickening _debris_ was seen on
every hand. Swarms of flies and insects had fastened upon heaps of
filthy garbage. Nothing was seen of comfortable homesteads but
charred, smoke-begrimed walls. Exploded shells lay around. Great
excavations, the work of huge bombs, were seen on every hand. All
around, too, they could see the carcases of horses, killed in battle,
the bones of which were beginning to appear. The smells were horrible.

"Let's get away from this!" said Pringle; "it's worse than any hell I
ever dreamed of."

But Bob refused to move. He seemed to be fascinated by what he saw.
He loathed the sickening sights which met his gaze, but he could not
tear himself away.

"See the hundreds