“Oh! what do you think of that?” Amos was heard to exclaim. He looked as though he could hardly realize he understood the correct meaning of the poor old distracted peasant’s lament. Fran?ois was standing there with his head bent; his wife still on her knees rocked to and fro with many groanings, as though her heart might be nearly broken.
Indeed, it was a strange spectacle for those two American lads, and one that gave them a thrill. They had felt wonderfully shaken when witnessing the rush of Teuton files on the British lines, and watched scores, yes even hundreds of furiously fighting men fall in heaps; but this was entirely different. Now pity filled their boyish hearts. They believed they could fully comprehend the measure of shame that must wring the hearts of this honest couple.
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They had but one child, and he a young man who should be at the front standing bravely up in defense of his beloved country. Instead of that he had deserted from his regiment, and made his way secretly home, possibly sending his parents word in some way that he was coming in order to have them hide him.
Those old people had the right spirit in their hearts. The man, yes, and even the old housewife also, would have been ready and willing to risk and lose their own lives in the great cause of king and country. To discover that their only boy had a “yellow streak” in his nature filled them with shame and bitter regret. They feared that if the truth ever became known they might never again look their friends and neighbors in the face—those devoted patriots on all sides who had made the greatest possible sacrifices.
Jack was almost as much shaken with compassion for the couple as Amos gave evidence of being. He put out a hand and seized that of the man, which he insisted on squeezing in his whole-hearted boyish fashion.
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“I am sorry that we forced you to tell us this, Fran?ois Bart,” he said, and at the time Amos wondered why his chum spoke so loudly, until presently he remembered that the boy soldier was just beneath that floor, and could possibly overhear every word that was said, as Jack doubtless intended should be the case.
“You see, M’sieu,” explained the peasant abjectly, “Jean is our child, and we love him. We could not turn him away from our door, for if seen he might be arrested and shot at ten paces. So we are in great distress of mind. We could let everything we have in this world go, and still smile, but to know that our flesh and blood is a—coward. Oh! that is worse than death itself to both of us.”
“Then you do not stand back of him in his desertion?” asked Jack.
“M’sieu, if the news came to us that our Jean had fallen covered with glory in his place at the front we could rejoice, and be satisfied, for we must always remember that he gave his poor life for our country. But that he should turn out to[234] be a deserter, and run from duty breaks our hearts!”
Jack felt sure he detected some sort of movement under the floor. He believed the wretched Jean must have his ear pressed against the boards, and was not losing a single word of all that they said. So when he spoke again the ranch boy kept his voice at a pitch sufficiently high to be heard.
“We are sorry for you, Fran?ois,” he said. “It must be a terrible thing for a father and mother in Belgium to know that their only son is a coward, and that he has allowed his fears to force him to shirk his plain duty to his king. Have you done all you can to convince him of his mistake?”
“M’sieu, we have pleaded, and almost threatened, but he keeps on saying that although his heart seems to be brave enough, his legs refuse to carry him again into the terrible battle where his comrades are falling all around him.”
“Then he has already been under fire?” asked Jack, in a surprised tone.
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“Oh! yes, and one of his friends who came back badly wounded told us Jean was showing himself almost a hero. We believed that the old failing in his blood had been conquered. Then we had word from him, and this night he came, trembling with fear, saying that he must be hidden until he could find a chance to cross over into England where he would be safe.”
“Try once more to arouse him,” said Jack. “Appeal to him by everything that he holds dear. Tell him that you would sooner see him brought home dead than that he desert in the face of danger. Perhaps the spasm of fear may have passed by then. He may have come to his senses, and realize that his true nature is not that of a coward. He has already shown that he can stand up under fire and give a good account of himself. And, Fran?ois, we both hope all may come out well with you—and Jean! Now we will be glad to go up into the loft once more and get some sleep.”
The peasant looked a little more hopeful; even his wife arose from her knees, to the great relief[236] of Amos, who disliked very much seeing her in that position.
“It is kind of you, young M’sieu!” exclaimed the man. “Then you believe what we have told you? You no longer suspect us of harboring a German spy under our poor roof?”
“We are sorry for you, that is all,” Jack told him. “You need fear nothing from us, since we would not betray your secret for worlds. All we hope is that your boy Jean will be able to shake himself together, and resolve to go back to his duty like every Belgian who is worth his salt is doing this day. Come along, Amos, let’s try for another sleep.”
When the two boys had climbed once more into the loft, to find the candle still lighted as Jack had left it, of course the first thing Amos did was to ask his chum a few questions that were burning on his tongue.
“Do you think he heard what was said, Jack; and was that the reason you spoke in such a loud tone?”
“You’ve guessed it, Amos. Somehow, I felt[237] so sorry for that poor couple in their bitter humiliation and shame that I just wanted to see if I couldn’t arouse whatever spark of patriotism the............