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Show But Johan the German only opened his blue eyes on his enemies and drew in a long gasping breath. They none of them understood each other's speech, but something older than the Tower of Babel had given them . ' comprehension and was to give them more. For something else besides the helmetvhad fallen from its place in that laborious journey up the altar steps. The wounded German had torn hls tunic open in his first agonised fight for breath and from it had slipped a cheap locket attached to a cheap chain, and holding a cheap photograph cheaply colouredithe photograph of a fair-haired baby. . " By gum! Ain't it like my kid," muttered John the Englishman, and from his khaki tunic he drew another cheap locket. And Jean the Breton, not to be outdone, followed suit in his blue coatee. So there in the still, silvery, serene moonlight showed three fair-haired, blue-eyed baby faces, framed in tawdry pinchbeck ; but the faces were the faces of immortality-the symbol of the race. . " Mon p'tit fils," murmured Jean the Breton fondly. " Mon p'tit Jean}: " Hello! Jacky my boy," chirruped John the Englishman, trying to hide the ache in his heart under a smile. But Johan the German only rolled his head from side to side and his lips moved as if he would have said " Vater.'y Perhaps he was thinking of his country. Perhaps his dying ear had become more acute to the sounds that matter, and he was forestalling the little wailing cry which after a space rose fitfully among the ruins, " Faster ! Faster ! Faster ! Faster ! " The cry of a child ! Yes ! the wail of a sturdy little Flemish fellow of two, who came totteringly over the scattered stones with his bare feet. He wore a quaint little night garment; so, in the hurry of flight, he must have been left behind asleep. it But now, awake, his insistent Faster! Faster! Faster!" was like the cry of a plover luring danger from her nest. In the next five minutes John the Englishman's wounded arm forgot itself, and Jean the Breton's splintered knee and wrist secured solace, but Johan the German's wistful eyes were all he could place at the service of the little lad, until as the pitiful wailing would not cease, a trembling hand pointed waveringly to a haversack, and once again the unwritten unspoken word brought comprehension. The little Flamand munching away contentedly at a concentrated German sausage ration gave his name shyly with a smile as " Jan-pi'ou' Jan." " Mon p'tit gars-mon Jean," murmured the Breton ecstatically, and fell to dreaming of a cottage among apple orchards. " Kids is terrible similar! " pronounced the Englishman with awe in his voice, and fell to dreaming of a tenement-flat high up among the chimneys. But the German's dazed mind could not get beyond a vague insistent dream, and his blood-stained lips moved as if he would have said " Vater." He was evidently going fast, and all things worth having in this lifevlove and loyalty~were bound up in that word. 44 Still with one final effort he pointed to the thick overcoat which they had Spread over him and motioned they should wrap the drowsy child in it. They did not say him nay ; he was too far gone for that. "But I ain't agoin' to disturb you, sonny," said John the English man cheerfully. " There's room of a little un beside you-so creep in, Jackie." " Ses prieres P " expostulated Jean the Breton ; he was a devout Catholic. " N'oublies pas tes prieres, mon p'tit Jean." And the little fellow understanding the man's clasped hands murmured something sleepily. No one understood the words, but their spirit-the spirit of father and son-was in the hearts of the listeners. And one of them saw further to that spirit than the others,gave a long gasp, and lay still. " He's off, pore chap," said John the Englishman, " but let be-~ Creep in, sonny~you'll both rest the better mayhap." Jean the Breton looked at the dead face that lay so close to the child's and crossed himself as he murmured the dimittance prayer which sends a soul to find freedom. After that the moon, still, silvery, serene, shone on a silent group about the feet of the Christ with its eternal message of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of immortal fatherhood and sonship. So the silent night passed, till in the east the blood-red glow of dawn heralded another dreadful day, and incarnadined the crown of thorns upon the Sorrowful Brow. And almost with the glow came the shriek, the scream of the first shell fired by the advancing Germans as a precaution lest the village should have been reoccupied during the night. It did not disturb the sleepers. The ears of one were deaf to strife for ever, and the child, in Childhood's deep dreamless sleep, slept on. The two Others lying either side, used to long days and nights of such hellish devilish tumult, only stirred, and, half conscious, threw each a protecting arm across the dead man and the child. The swift crackle passed, the sharp resounding explosion was over ere it could be realised, sending out a fierce rain of scattering shrapnel. After that there was no sound save the soft breathing of little Jan as he lay secure beneath dead protecting arms, his head pillowed on his dead enemy's heart. And as the child slept the sun rose and turned the incarnadined crown of thorns upon the bowed head of the Son of Man into a crown of gold. |