spares them to return.

At that same instant two boys appeared at the entrance to the
courtyard. They may have been respectively ten and twelve years of
age. The perspiration trickled from their faces, and they were bending
beneath the weight of a huge bundle each carried on his back.

"Hello, there, fellows," called one of them.

A soldier appeared on the threshold.

"Here Lefranc--here are your two boxes of sardines, and your snuff.
There isn't any more plum jam to be had. Oh, yes, and here's your
writing paper."

The child scribbled something in an old account book.

"That makes fifty-three sous," he finally announced.

Other soldiers now came up.

The boys were soon surrounded by a group of eager gesticulating
_poilus_.

"Oh, shut up, can't you? How can a fellow think if you all scream at
once? Here--Mimile"--and he turned to his aid. "Don't you give 'em a
thing."

Then the tumult having subsided, he continued--

"Now then, your names, one at a time--and don't muddle me when I'm
trying to count!"

Pistre quickly explained that this phenomenon was Popaul called
"Business"--and Mimile, his clerk, both sons of a poor widow who washed
for the soldiers. In spite of his tender years "Business" had
developed a tendency for finance that bespoke a true captain of
industry. He had commenced by selling the men newspapers, and then
having saved enough to buy first one and then a second bicycle, the
brothers went twice a day to Villers Cotterets, some fifteen miles
distant, in quest of the orders given them by the soldiers. At first
the dealers tried to have this commerce prohibited, but as the lads
were scrupulously honest, and their percentage very modest, the
Commandant not only tolerated, but protected them.

Mimile was something of a Jonah, having twice been caught by bits of
shrapnel, which necessitated his being cared for at the dressing
station.

"All his own fault too," exclaimed Business, shrugging his shoulders.
"He's no good at diving. Doesn't flatten out quick enough. Why I used
to come right over the road last Winter when the bombardment was on
full tilt. I was then working for the Legion and the Chasseurs. No
cinch let me tell you! It used to be--'Popaul here--Popaul
there--where's my tobacco? How about my eau-de-Cologne?' There wasn't
any choice with those fellows. It was furnish the goods or bust--and I
never lost them a sou's worth of merchandise either!"

Business knew ev