Who Goes There!

"No, dear. Please!"

So Karen rose and walked to the piano. Presently Darrel turned and seated himself to listen to the deathless sanity of Beethoven flowing from the keys under a young girl's slender fingers.

She was still seated there when Valentine came in, and turned her head from the keyboard, stilling the soft chords.

"We had such a good time," said Valentine. "We caught half a dozen trout, and then I took him to the Pulpit where we sat down and remained very quiet; and just at sunset three boar came out to feed on the oak mast; and he said that one of them was worth shooting!"

"You evidently have had a good time," said Darrel, smiling. "What happened to Guild. Did the boar tree him?"

"I think he'd be more likely to tree the boar," remarked the girl. And to her mother she said: "He went on toward the winter fold to talk to Michaud who has just returned from Trois Fontaines. There were a lot of men there, ours and a number of strangers. So I left him to talk to Michaud. What have you all been doing this afternoon?" turning to Karen, and from her, involuntarily to Darrel.

"Miss Girard and I have conversed philosophically and satisfactorily concerning everything on earth," he said. "I wish my conversations with you were half as satisfactory."

Valentine laughed, but there was a slight flush on her cheeks, and again she glanced at Karen, whose lovely profile only was visible where she bent in silence above the keyboard.

"Your mother," remarked Darrel, "has decided to sail with me. Would you condescend to join us, Valentine?"

"Mother, are you really going back when Harry sails?"

"Yes. I don't quite like the attitude of the men here. And Harry thinks there is very likely to be trouble between them and the Germans across the border."

The girl looked thoughtfully at her mother, then at Darrel, rather anxiously.

"Mother," she said, "I think it is a good idea to get Harry out of the country. He is very bad-tempered, and if the Germans come here and are impudent to us he'll certainly get himself shot!"

"I! I haven't the courage of a caterpillar!" protested Darrel.

"You're the worst fibber in the Ardennes! You did kill that grey boar this morning! What do you mean by telling us that you went up a tree! Maxl, the garde-de-chasse at the Silverwiltz gate, heard your shot and came up. And you told him to dress the boar and send a cart for it. Which he did! – you senseless prevaricator!"

"Oh, my!" said Darrel meekly.

"And you're wearing a bandage below your knee where the boar bit you when you gave him the coup-de-grâce! Maxl washed and bound it for you! What a liar you are, Harry! Does it hurt?"

"To be a liar?"

"No! where you were tusked?"

"Maxl was stringing you, fair maid," he said lightly.

"He wasn't! You walk lame!"

"Laziness and gout account for that débutante slouch of mine. But of course if you care to hold my hand – "

The girl looked at him, vexed, yet laughing:

"I don't want people who do not know you to think you really are the dub you pretend to be! Do you wish Miss Girard to believe it?"

"Truth is mighty and must – "

"I know more about you than you think I do, Harry. Mr. Guild portrayed for me a few instances of your 'mouse'-like courage. And I don't wish you to lose your temper and be shot if the Uhlans ride into Lesse and insult us all! Therefore I approve of our sailing for home. And the sooner the better!"

"You frighten me," he said; "I think I'll ask Jean to pack my things now." And he got up, limping, and started for the door.

"Mother," she said, "that boar's tusks may poison him. Won't you make him let us bandage it properly?"

"I think you had better, Harry," said Mrs. Courland, rising.

"Oh, no; it's all right – "

"Harry!" That was all Valentine said. But he stopped short.

"Take his other arm, mother," said the girl with decision.

She looked over her shoulder at Karen; the two young girls exchanged a smile; then Valentine marched off with her colossal liar.

CHAPTER XX

BEFORE DINNER

Michaud, head forester, had taken off his grey felt hat respectfully when Valentine introduced him to Guild, there in the lantern light of the winter sheep fold. A dozen or more men standing near by in shadowy groups had silently uncovered at the same time. Two wise-looking sheep dogs, squatted on their haunches, looked at him.

Then the girl had left Guild there and returned to the house.

"I should like to have a few moments quiet conversation with you," said Guild; and the stalwart, white-haired forester stepped quietly aside with him, following the younger man until they were out of earshot of those gathered by the barred gate of the fold.

"You are Belgian?" inquired Guild pleasantly.

"De Trois Fontaines, monsieur."

It was a characteristic reply. A Belgian does not call himself a Belgian. Always he designates his nationality by naming his birthplace – as though the world must know that it is in Belgium.

"And those people over there by the sheep fold?" asked Guild.

"Our men – some of them – from Ixl, from the Black Erenz and the White, from Lesse – one from Liège. And there is one, a stranger."

"From where?"

"Moresnet."

"Has he any political opinions?"

"He says his heart is with us. It is mostly that way in Moresnet."

"In Moresnet ten per cent of the people are Germans in sympathy," remarked Guild. "What is this man? A miner?"

"A charcoal burner."

"Does he seem honest?"