Morning brought awakening to the two friends with the sounding of reveille from bugles, seemingly just outside their window. Together they sprang from bed, raced to the window, wide open as it had been all night, and looked out. Not far away, in a small park, one of those for which the city of Amiens is famous, they saw an array of white tents that they had not seen the night before when they had gone to bed. Already the camp was stirring; even as they watched the soldiers were all about. And early as it was, they saw a scout ride up on a bicycle, speak to the sentry who challenged him, and wait. In a moment an officer came out, the scout saluted, and his salute was returned as stiffly and gravely as it had been given. Then the scout handed the officer a letter, saluted again and, receiving permission, turned away and vaulted on his wheel.
Henri was vastly excited.
"Come on!" he cried eagerly. "Let's get dressed, Frank. I see that we should be out already."
"Yes. It's time we were getting busy if the others are at work," said Frank. "Where do you suppose those chaps came from?"
"I don't know—that's exactly what's puzzling me," said Henri, his brow knitted. "They don't look like reserve troops. I don't know exactly why, either, but we can soon find out."
They bathed and dressed hurriedly, and went down to find that Marie, the cook who had been with the Martin family ever since Henri could remember, was ready to give them their breakfast. In a time when many families for reasons of economy were allowing their servants to go, Henri's mother had kept all of hers.
"Now, more than ever," she said, "they need the work and the wages. It is a time for those who can possibly afford it to engage more servants, rather than to discharge those they have already in their employ and service."
Madame Martin, who, like Henri's aunt in Paris, was busy all day long in helping the wounded, doing voluntary duty in the Red Cross hospital to which she had been assigned, was not yet up. She had greeted the two boys on their arrival the previous evening, but had left the house immediately after dinner, since it was her turn to do some night work.
"She is wearing herself out," complained old Marie. "A fine lady like her dressing the wounds of piou-pious, indeed!"
Frank laughed. He knew by this time what piou-piou meant. It is the endearing term of the French for the little red-trousered soldiers who form the armies of the republic, just as the English call a soldier Tommy Atkins.
"It is for France," said Henri, gravely. "I shall perhaps be a piou-piou myself before so very long, Marie."
"You will be an officer, will you not?" exclaimed Marie.
"It may be. I do not know," said Henri. "But the best and the greatest men in France, those who govern us and write books and plays, and paint pictures, and make fine statues, are in the ranks to-day. It is a privilege even for my mother to nurse them."
"All very well—but I won't have her getting all tired out," grumbled Marie. "Your father told me himself, when he went off, to look after her. And I'm going to do it."
"Where did the soldiers who are in the park come from?" asked Henri, changing the subject.
"Who knows? They come, they stay a few hours or a day, then they go, and others take their places! More soldiers have been in Amiens than I knew were in the world! We had some English—strange, mad men, who wore dresses to their knees and had music that sounded like a dozen cats fighting at night on a back yard fence."
Both the boys laughed at this description of the kilted Highlanders with their bagpipes, but they exchanged meaning glances. Paris did not know where the English troops were; barely knew that some had crossed the channel, and had landed in France. How many had come no one knew except those who would not tell. All that was announced was that England had sent help to her ally, and that English troops were again, as on so many occasions in the past, on French soil. But this time they came as friends, not as the enemies that Marlborough and Wellington had led.
"Well, we'll soon know, even if she can't tell us," said Henri. And as soon as they had had their breakfast, they slipped around to the kitchen. Henri and Frank both laughed, for they surprised half a dozen blushing, awkward infantrymen, who were receiving hot coffee and rolls—fare of a different sort from that afforded by the camp kitchens.
"Welcome, welcome!" said Henri. "My father is with his regiment, or he would speak, so I speak for him. Of what regiment are you, my friends?"
One of them mentioned its number, and Henri exclaimed in his surprise.
"But you are of the Nancy corps—the twentieth!" he cried. "You were fighting in Lorraine! Were you not among those who captured Mulhouse?"
"Yes." The soldier's face grew dark. "Ah, you are right! Of a truth we captured Mulhouse! How the Uhlans ran! We beat them there, and we were chasing them. Ah, the delight of that! There we were, in Alsace! The lost province! For the first time in forty-four years it saw French uniforms. For the first time since 1870 it was free from the Germans. The people sang and cheered as we went into the villages. They brought us food. The young women spread flowers before us. And then—we came back. We were not beaten! We had orders to recross the border. And we were put on trains and brought here. The shame of it!"
"But you came?"
"Soldiers must obey! But even our officers, I can tell you, did not like it!"
"Sometimes an army must retreat to fight better somewhere else," said Henri in defense.
"But here? At Amiens? There are no Prussians here!"
"Perhaps they are not so far away. One hears—they were in Brussels a week ago—they are pouring toward the border—perhaps they have passed it. It may be that there is a battle to be fought here in France."
"Oh, well, if there is a battle to be fought, that is different again. That is what we want. In Alsace there were no battles. They ran as soon as they saw our uniforms—the pigs of Prussians!"
"Good luck to you, then! May you beat a thousand of them!"
"We shall! Never fear! I will bring you a pretzel from Berlin when we come back in exchange for your good rolls!"
Laughing again, Frank and Henri went out.
"That fellow is like the French soldiers I've read about," said Frank, much interested.
"Yes. He is the sort who fights well, but does not think. But, Frank, I begin to think you were right. If they give up the fight in Alsace to re-enforce the army here, the Germans must be winning."
"Perhaps not. It may be only for the time."
"Yet it looks serious. Listen! Can you hear the sound of guns?"
Henri said that as a jest. But Frank listened—he took him seriously.
"Not yet," he said.
"Nor ever shall—from here!" exclaimed Henri. "I did not mean that! They will be held on the border."
Yet, even as he spoke, though he did not know it, the Germans, victors at the great battle of Mons-Charleroi, were driving the left wing of the allied army remorselessly, steadily back through the fertile fields of Champagne, where bullets were tearing the laden grapevines to pieces. The Uhlans were riding along the coast. Forced back by the defeat of the left, the centre was yielding. It was well that they did not know then what was in store; that they could not foresee the coming days when the Germans seemed to be the sure victors.
As they talked, Frank and Henri were making their way to the place where M. Marron, the scoutmaster, had told them to report. He was there, listening to reports and giving orders when they arrived. They had provided themselves the night before with uniforms, and now they were true scouts in appearance save that they did not wear the badge. They waited until he was ready to speak to them.
"You know the scout law?" he asked them, briefly.
Together they recited it.
"In war," he said, "rules may be forgotten. There are other tests, but these I shall not impose. Recite after me the scout oath. It binds you to be faithful, to be honorable. You are to obey the ten points of the scout law. And now that war has come, you are to obey all orders from officers of the army as you would those of your scoutmaster. If I go—and that may be to-day—you will obey the leader of the third patrol, to which you are assigned, as you would me. If things so come about that you can get orders from no one you will still do all you can for France."
Then he repeated in French the scout oath, and they said it after him.
"Now you are scouts," said Marron. He pinned badges on their sleeves. "Wear this always. Remember that it typifies your honor."
He raised three fingers in the scout salute; they returned it.
"That is well," he said, then. "Now for your first duty, you will accompany other scouts, to see how they perform their work. When you have done that for a little while, you may be trusted with independent commissions."
All morning, first with other scouts, and then alone, they did errands of one sort and another. After a brief rest for a hurried noonday meal, M. Marron gave them new orders.
"Here is a list of houses," he said. "Soon a train will arrive with refugees from districts where the Germans are. You will take these refugees around with you, in parties of twenty-five, with two scouts to a party, until all are cared for. The owners of the houses on your list have agreed to give these poor people food and shelter until they can safely return to their homes. Treat them kindly and chivalrously. Remember that though they may not have fought, they have suffered for the fatherland! You understand?"