He was a little man, with a thin red beard, great rings in his ears, and piercing, shifty eyes.  A reddish, diminutive sort of man, altogether, with a thin little voice that went with his general appearance.  He was literally scared stiff at the idea of the Boches finding the boys on his premises.  That would mean his house burned, and death for himself, he said.  Germans were all about, he said fearfully, and no one could escape them.  He was so frankly nervous and so devoutly wishful that the boys had never come near him and his, that Bob, to ease the little man’s mind, promised that the boys would swim the river when dark came and relieve the tension so far as the stack-owner was concerned.  He was eager enough to see that the boys were well hidden, and before he climbed down the ladder he piled bundle after bundle upon them, as if preferring that they should be smothered rather than discovered by the dreaded Boches.

That was a tiring day, a hungry, thirsty day, but the boys lay as still as mice.  From where they lay they could see a sufficient number of Germans passing and repassing along the road and across the bridge to hourly remind them of the necessity of keeping close cover.

At night, before nine o’clock, they climbed down from their hiding-place, went to the edge of the river, undressed, and waded out neck-deep.  Dicky stepped on a stone that rolled over and in righting himself splashed about once or twice.  In a moment a deep voice could be heard from the opposite bank, growling out, "Was ist das?" The boys kept perfectly still, and heard the German call out for someone to come.  Quietly each of the boys ducked his head and gently waded back under water to the shelter of their own bank.  There they sat, very cold and miserable, for some time.  Then the moon came out and lit up the country-side bright as day.

“It’s off for to-night,” whispered Bob.  “We must go back and have another try to-morrow night.  That was bad luck.  The Boche could hardly have been a sentry.  I think he was just there by chance.  What rotten luck!” So back they went, wet and cold, to their nest at the top of the stack, in anything but a hopeful frame of mind.

They fell into a sound sleep before long, and were awakened quite early next morning by the weight of someone ascending the ladder.  “A Boche this time!” whispered Dicky as he regained consciousness.  “That light little man never could make such a commotion.”

The perspiration broke out on Bob’s forehead.

An age seemed to pass before the head of the intruder came into view.  What was their surprise and relief to see the round smiling face of a Belgian woman of considerable size and weight!  Redbeard had told her of his unwelcome guests and she had come to offer such succor and assistance as might lie in her power.

She was the widow of a Belgian officer, killed in the first fighting of the war.  She asked if the boys were hungry, and when Bob admitted that they had been on very short rations indeed for some time she reached down and drew up a little basket containing a bottle of red wine and a plate of beans.