ore than we do. You may think
that helmet and those stripes on your arm give you more brains than the
common run of people, but it isn't so! I say I protest!"

"And much good your protest may do you at this time and place," was the
calm answer. Then, drawing his eyebrows down until the blue eyes were
scarcely able to peer beneath them, he continued: "I, Heinrich von
Liebknecht, Captain in His Imperial Majesty's army in command of a
detachment sent forward to capture this city, have decided that it is
better that you remain with us. There is nothing more to say."

"But there is a great deal more to say!" stormed the boy.

"Jimmie," cautioned another lad, stepping forward and laying a hand on
the arm of the red-headed boy, "perhaps it would be better to say no
more just at this time. There must be some way out of this."

"Silence!" commanded the man who had called himself von Liebknecht.
"The decision has been made. I leave you now, but will return in a few
moments. By that time you will have said farewell to your friends and
be ready to accompany me for service under the Kaiser!"

The lad addressed as Jimmie could scarcely restrain a sneer as the
other finished speaking. His contempt was unbounded, and he did not
seem to be making any great effort to conceal his emotion.

Just as the door was closing behind the departing man Jimmie permitted
himself to wrinkle his freckled nose in that direction and accompanied
the gesture with a motion indicative of great disgust and contempt well
known to many.

The scene was one unusual in the extreme. Four young boys were
standing in a room from which the ceiling had been partly removed by an
exploding shell from a cannon. They were in one of the houses that had
only partly escaped destruction during the bombardment of Peremysl by
the Germans on that memorable first day of June, 1915.

Three of the boys were about eighteen years of age and wore the
well-known uniforms of the Boy Scouts of America. The eldest, Ned
Nestor, was slightly older than the others and wore insignia that
denoted his rank as patrol leader of the Wolf Patrol, New York City.

Jack Bosworth and Harry Stevens stood beside Ned, their uniforms
slightly the worse for wear, due to the extremely active experiences
they had just undergone. These boys were members of the Black Bear
Patrol of New York City, and were fast friends of Ned Nestor and his
red-headed chum, Jimmie McGraw, the fourth member of