he next night.

At nightfall we stole out and began again to get over the distance
that separated us from freedom. The country was drier and more
settled, but the cows, we saw, were all in farmyards, and we were
afraid to risk going near them. About midnight we almost stumbled
over a herd of them, and one fine old whiteface arose at our request
and let us milk her. Ted stood at her head, and spoke kind words to
her and rubbed her nose, while I filled our tin again and again. She
was a Holstein, I think, though we could not see if she was black or
red--it was so dark, we could only see the white markings. We were
sorry to leave her. She was another of the bright spots in my memory
of Germany.

We crossed a railroad, a double-tracked one with rock ballast, which
my map showed to be a line which runs to Bremen, and a little later
we came to the Weser. This river brought up pleasant recollections of
the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who drowned the rats in the Weser by the
magic of his pipe. But there was no romance in it as we came upon it
in a gray and misty dawn. It was only another barrier to our freedom.

There were bunches of willows on the water's edge, and some fine
beeches, whose leaves were slightly tinged with yellow, farther back.
We selected a close bunch of willows for our hiding-place, and after
spending a short time looking for a boat, we gave up the quest, and
took cover.

We were feeling well, and were in a cheerful mood,--no doubt the
result of our pleasant meeting with the Holstein,--and when we saw
some straw in a field not far from the willows, we went over and got
two armfuls of it, and made beds for ourselves. Fresh, clean straw,
when dry, makes a good bed, and no Ostermoor mattress was ever more
comfortable. We burrowed into it like moles, and although it rained
we had a good day.

Waking up in the afternoon, we decided on a general clean-up, and,
dipping water from the Weser in a rusty tin pail without a handle, we
washed our faces, cleaned our teeth, shaved, and combed our hair.

My socks were in fine shape, but Ted's began to show signs of
dissolution. The heels were gone, and the toe of one was broken and
going. His feet were sore and blistered, and he sat long looking
at the perfidious socks which had failed him so soon. Then he had
a plan--he would make himself a pair out of the sleeves of his
undershirt. To me was given the delicate task of cutting off the
sleeves with rather a dull knife, w