“Good-afternoon,” said Lucy, getting up, still holding little Freidrich’s hand. The others nodded to the German as they turned back toward the forest, the children tagging at their heels.
“We will walk a little way with you, shall we?” asked Adelheid, dancing ahead. She had stuck the bits of tinsel that fell to her share into her flaxen braids, and looked, as she flitted about among the great tree-trunks, like a child come to life out of a German fairy tale.
“Have you lived here always, Adelheid?” asked Larry, smiling at her.
Adelheid’s bright eyes fixed his as for a second she puzzled over his bad German; then, understanding, she said quickly, “Oh, no, Herr Officer. But we have lived here a good while. Let me think. Well, I can’t remember, but we came here when there was fighting. Papachen left off being a soldier to bring us here. He said it was better so—then he need not fight any more. But our mother was not pleased.”
“Need not fight any more because he became a woodcutter?” asked Larry doubtfully.
“I don’t know, mein Herr. That was what he said. He was sad and the mother was sad. We were poor, because we had no longer the farm.”
“You used to have a farm?”
“Yes—a fine one, with pigs and a field. But the fighting came, and they took all that place.”
“Who took it?” Larry persisted.
Adelheid glanced shyly at Armand’s face, then, almost whispering, explained to Larry, “It was the French. They said it all belonged to them. They let us stay where we were, but soon there was a battle and everyone had to run away.”