peace. You'll
always be sure of getting orders there--unless we meet someone on the
road."

They thought that was the best idea, and fell back, cantering behind my
caravan with which I had now caught up.

On we trotted-up hill and down dale for several hours, my poor wounded
boy still writhing on his bed of agony.

Towards four o'clock we had reached a long smooth stretch where we could
see right and left for several miles over the plains. Presently, on a
crossroad that ran perpendicular to ours, I spied a motor wagon. It was
soon followed by another and then another, and pressing forward we
reached the crossing in time to see Harrods' Stores, Whitley's, Swan &
Edgar, and an interminable number of English Army supply motors coming
straight towards us.

Knowing that it would be impossible to pass before the whole long line
had gone by, I crossed over and now saw that the Scots Grays would soon
find friends. I called Leon and pulling out a card, told him to pedal
back and dig out a bottle of champagne I had hidden in our hay cart, and
to present it to our soldier friends as a bracer and a souvenir. And
then we pushed ahead.

Two minutes later, to my utter surprise, a heavy motor horn tooted on
the road behind me and looking back, I saw a private car emerge from
behind one of the English motors, and whirl down in our direction. It
was a four-seater affair with but two occupants, a chauffeur and a woman
wearing a streaming white veil.

"Quick!" I shrieked, grabbing the reins and pulling our cart full into
the middle of the road. "They've got to take me and the boy to Melun!"

Seeing his deliverance so near, my old friend obeyed at once.

The motor, stupefied by our actions, slowed down.

"Get out of the way!" yelled the chauffeur. "Are you crazy! Out or
I'll run you down!"

"Never! Look here. I don't care where you're bound for, but you've got
to make room for me and a dying man in your machine. It's Melun--or
nothing!"

"Wounded! Heaven, the Germans! We're caught! Go on, quick, quick, I
say!" shrieked the woman.

The chauffeur made a movement as though to skid past us.

"No, you don't," I said, once again producing my trusty Browning.

The woman hid her face in her hands.

"Now then, either you can make room for us or I'll blow off your tires
and you'll have to get down and walk like all the rest of us!"

My gray-headed driver was jubilant.

"That's right, Madame, you've hit it!" he enc