“I am an American boy; can’t you talk English?” he asked.
Of course that last word gave the Brother the cue. He shook his head in the negative, and then made gestures to indicate that Bumpus should remain where he was, after which he hobbled from the cell.
“Anyway, he looked friendly,” Bumpus was telling himself, with considerable satisfaction; “and a man as big and round as he is generally does turn out kindly in his ways. I guess I’m in clover, and mebbe I’ll get that breakfast after all.”
Shortly afterward he heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Then his former interlocutor appeared once more, this time accompanied by another Brother, a tall, thin man with a leathery face, upon which could be seen more or less surprise, as though the news communicated by the fat monk might be almost unbelievable.
“Can you speak English, sir?” Bumpus immediately asked, as this latter Brother came up to where he was standing.
“Yes,” came the reply; “but who are you, and how do you come here?”
Bumpus gave an audible sigh of relief. His troubles were probably at an end. It would be all right now, and he could explain the situation from the start. Yes, and surely they would understand how a growing boy had to have his breakfast regularly. So he began by telling his name, and how it happened that he and three chums were over in Europe at the time the mad war so suddenly broke out. From that point Bumpus went on to relate in a brief way how they had struggled to reach Antwerp so as to join his invalid mother. Then came the discovery that Mrs. Hawtree had gone on to the French capital when the Germans broke into Belgium. Bumpus described how the four scouts had decided to reach Paris, and then found themselves cast adrift between the lines of the hostile armies.
All this time the tall, thin monk listened intently. Whenever Bumpus would pause for breath he turned to the big fat Brother and said something in French.
At last Bumpus reached the point where, after becoming lost, he happened upon a building he thought might be some abandoned sanitarium, and, tired almost to death, had sought a place to rest. He also told of witnessing the burial of the patriot Brother at midnight, and his firm belief that he had nothing to fear from these benevolent monks whose refuge he had invaded without meaning any harm.
“You are welcome, boy,” said the other, when Bumpus finished his story. “It is not often that we have a guest from the outside world; but in war-times ordinary customs and habits are no longer possible. The Brother whom you saw buried with all the honors of our Order did give his life for his beloved country. He was killed while carrying the wounded to the field hospital. And we have a score of other members who this day are serving France as best they may, under the sacred vows. But you must be hungry, I fear.”