w in the house rattled up,
and a man shouted to a barking dog. The fugitives ducked by a sudden
impulse, and darted into the cow-shed.

It was a long, low building, divided into stables. There was no
hiding-place visible, and despair held them for a moment. Then Jim
caught sight of a rough ladder leading to an opening in the ceiling,
and flung his hand towards it; he had no speech left. They went up it
hand over hand, and found themselves in a dim loft, with pea-straw
heaped at one end. Desmond was almost done.

"Lie down--quick!" Jim pushed him into the straw and covered him over
with great bundles of it. Then he crawled in himself, pulling the
rough pea-stalks over him until he had left himself only a peep-hole
commanding the trap-door. As he did so, voices came into the stable.

They held their breath, feeling for their knives. Then Desmond
smothered a laugh.

"What did they say?" Jim whispered.

"It would be 'Bail up, Daisy!' in English," Desmond whispered back.
"They're beginning to milk the cows."

"I wish they'd milk Daisy up here," Jim grinned. "Man, but I'm
thirsty!"

It was thirsty work, lying buried in the dusty pea-straw, in the
close, airless loft. Hours went by, during which they dared not move,
for when the milking was done, and the cows turned out, people kept
coming and going in the shed. They picked up a little information
about the war from their talk--Jim's German was scanty, but Desmond
spoke it like a native; and in the afternoon a farmer from some
distance away, who had apparently come to buy pigs, let fall the
remark that a number of prisoners had escaped from the English camp.
No one seemed much interested; the war was an incident, not really
mattering so much, in their estimation, as the sale of the pigs. Then
every one went away, and Jim and his companion fell asleep.

It was nearly dark when they awoke. The sleep had done them good, but
they were overpoweringly thirsty--so thirsty that the thought of food
without drink was nauseating. The evening milking was going on; they
could hear the rattle of the streams of milk into the pails, in the
intervals of harsh voices. Then the cows were turned out and heavy
feet stamped away.

"They should all be out of the way pretty soon," Desmond whispered.
"Then we can make a move. We must get to water somehow, or----" He
broke off, listening. "Lie still!" he added quickly. "Some one is
coming up for straw."

"How do you kno