"Yes, indeed, gracious young lady," returned the rosy-faced, dark-eyed German soldier. "It is much better here in the country. There is never anything going on in a town!"
"Oh! I do not agree with you!" declared Muriel. "I prefer the town myself. The farmer here wants to know what you were in civil life?"
The young German answered that he helped his father, who had a big farming-estate in the Rhine country. This Muriel translated to Mr. Price, who replied:
"I thought he knew all about the work. He's a nice young fellow, this. Very kind. Very pleasant way with him. Look how pleased he is to hear you talk to him, Miss Elvey! I hope he isn't longing too much after his home, the poor fellow!"
And the Welsh farmer turned his kindliest smile upon this son of German farming-folk.
I am bound to say it was difficult to connect that dark-eyed, honest-faced young peasant with the atrocities committed over Europe by his kind. He spoke and bore himself modestly and decently. Every line of his rather heavy, comely countenance proclaimed him a truly harmless soul.
But it is when such thousands of these harmless souls are moulded and driven by those fiends who have cankered a once merely decent, sentimental, dreamy nation—it is then that the atrocities are made possible—the atrocities for which they all alike are paying now—too lightly!
The other man to whom Muriel spoke in German did not even appear harmless to me.
For the blue eyes of the German sailor, even while they smiled ingratiatingly at the pretty visitor, remained hard, watchful, and crafty. From the first instant I mistrusted that man!
He spoke with an accent that showed he was of a class better educated than his companion.