They talked for a few minutes longer and then went on, as they were eager to be once more with their comrades of the old Thirty-seventh.

And what a greeting they had when they walked into their old command!

They were pounded and mauled in wild enthusiasm, for they were prime favorites in the regiment and had been sadly given up as dead or captured.

They had to tell again and again the story of their adventures, and it was only by main force that they tore themselves away from their rejoicing mates long enough to report themselves to their officers as present for duty.

Their captain was as delighted as his men at their safe return, although his satisfaction was expressed in less boisterous fashion. He commended warmly the gallant fight they had put up with the Uhlans, and he was visibly startled as his eye glanced over the German report that had been captured by Frank when it fluttered down into the cellar.

"This must go to headquarters at once!" he exclaimed. "It is a matter of the utmost importance. You men have deserved the thanks of the army," he continued, "and I am proud that you are members of my command."

They made their way back to their company with their leader's praise ringing in their ears and warming their hearts. But they had scarcely got out of the captain's presence before his chums pounced upon Frank with the liveliest curiosity.

"How did you keep that paper when the Germans searched you?" asked Tom.

"Where did you hide it?" demanded Billy.

"I never knew you were a sleight of hand performer," added Bart.

"Easy there, fellows," laughed Frank, enjoying their mystification. "It was the simplest thing in the world. While you fellows were sleeping in the cellar I just loosened the sole of my shoe and slipped the paper in between the sole and the upper and nailed the sole up again. The Heinies didn't get next to it, and that's where I had luck. I'm mighty glad they didn't, for the cap seems to think there's something in it that's worth while."

"Foxy stunt," approved Tom.

"Some wise boy!" exclaimed Billy, giving his chum a slap on the shoulder that made him wince.

"You're all there when it comes to the gray matter, old man," was Bart's tribute.

A day later, part of their reward came in a week's furlough that was granted them for "specially gallant conduct," as the order of the day expressed it. The rest was welcome, for it was the first they had had since they had landed on French soil, and they had been under a strain of hard work and harder fighting that had taxed even their strong vitality to the utmost.

And that week stood out forever in their memory like an oasis in a desert. They spent it in a little French town miles away from the firing line and even beyond the sound of the guns. They fished and swam and loafed and slept as though there was no such thing as war in the world.

No reveille to wake them in the morning, no taps to send them to their beds at night. For the first time in months they were their own masters, and they enjoyed their brief liberty to the full.

Yet even here in this "little bit of heaven" as Tom expressed it, they could not be wholly free from war's reminder.

They were sprawling one day outside their cottage when an officer came along, gorgeous in epaulets and gold lace.

"See who's coming!" exclaimed Tom peevishly. "Now we'll have to get up and salute."

"I suppose so," said Billy reluctantly.

"Can't we pretend, we don't see him?" yawned Bart sleepily, clutching at a straw of hope.

"Not a chance in the world," declared Frank. "He's looking right at us."

They stood up as the officer approached and saluted respectfully. He returned the salute snappishly and glared at them sternly.

"Get in line there," he commanded. "Smart now. Eyes ahead."

They resented his tone, but obeyed with military promptness.

"Present arms."

They hesitated and looked at each other.

"Present arms," I said.

"If you please, sir," said Bart, "we have no guns."

"I know it," snapped the officer. "Go through the motions."

So without a word they did as directed.

"Shoulder arms."

They did so.

"Forward! March!"

He set off in front with a military stride and they followed.

"I feel like a fool," whispered Bart to Frank.

"Same here," was the reply. "What does he mean by it?"

"Wants to show his authority, I reckon," muttered Bart.

Tom and Billy said nothing, but there were scowls on their faces that spoke for them.

They had marched for perhaps half a mile, when at a cross roads two men appeared who were evidently looking for some one. Their eyes lighted up when they saw the officer and they came straight toward him. He saw them coming, and throwing his dignity to the wind started to run, but they were quicker than he and grasped him by the collar.

"Come back to the asylum," one of them growled. "We've had lots of trouble to find you."

The boys stood rooted to the spot.

"You see," explained one of the men, touching his forehead significantly, "he's a grocer that's got the military bug. He thinks he's Napoleon. Come along, Napoleon."

And "Napoleon" meekly obeyed.

CHAPTER XX

SUSPICION

To paint the emotions that chased themselves over the features of the four boys would have taxed the ability of an artist. For a moment no one of them cared to look into the eyes of the others.

Tom was the first to act. He grabbed his cap in his hands, kneaded it into a ball, threw it on the ground and jumped up and down on it.