“Don’t know, but soon!” was the reply.
Some months later I met my old neighbor, Ivan, now nearly four years in captivity. We were ploughing two adjoining fields.
“When are you going home, Ivan?” I asked jocularly. It was the first time that I had referred to it for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he answered smiling sadly, “I think mine is a life sentence!”
When at last the armistice was signed and the French and Belgians and all the rest of us were leaving, poor old Ivan was still there, and so were his thirty-four comrades—still going wearily through the routine of toil for their German masters, and playing Einundzwanzig on Sundays! The day of departure had passed into that realm of sweet, but distant hope to which the Millennium belongs.
CHAPTER X
German Lovers
I was cleaning up in the stable one day when Miga rushed in with a telegram in her hand.
“Ben, Ben!” she exclaimed, quaking with excitement. “Karl is coming today!”
Who Karl was or what the matter had to do with me I couldn’t imagine. “Where is Warner?” she asked.
I told her, and she rushed out to find him. Evidently it was something which everybody had to know. I was interested. I rather liked Miga. She had travelled a bit, and I put her down easily the most intelligent member of the household. But who was Karl?