“And their army is not organized; we shall be in Paris before they can mobilize. It will be 1870 over again. The war will be ended in two or three months. It has been promised us that we shall be home again for Christmas without fail.”
“I hope you will,” Stewart agreed; and there was a moment’s silence. “How much longer shall we have to wait?” he asked, at last.
“Our officer should be here at any moment.”
“It is absolutely necessary that we wait for him?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“We are very hungry,” Stewart explained.
The soldier pondered for a moment, and then rose to his feet.
“I think I can give you food,” he said. “It is permitted to give food, is it not?” he asked his comrades; and when they nodded, he opened his knapsack and took out a package of hard, square biscuits and a thick roll of sausage. He cut the sausage into generous slices, while Stewart watched with watering mouth, placed a slice on each of the biscuits, and passed them over.
“Splendid!” cried Stewart. “I don’t know how to thank you. But at least I can pay you,” and he dove into his pocket and produced a ten-mark piece—his last. The soldier shook his head. “It is for the whole squad,” added Stewart, persuasively. “You will be needing tobacco some day, and this will come in handy!”
The soldier smiled, took the little coin, and placed it carefully in his pocket.