Just then there was a definite lull in the shelling. André set the pails into the cool, stone-lined spring, taking Victor’s from him.
Victor caught his eye. “The noise is not so loud,” he said. “There is a trifling din, true, but it is less.”
“Perhaps the worst is over,” André said. “We could just start out, and if they tell us we can’t proceed, we can turn back....”
Victor’s pink face crinkled brightly. “But of course. Anything else would be gross stupidity.”
André fretted: Now he thinks I’ve promised to get his cart no matter what happens.
But the Americans would turn them back at once—so no harm would be done.
“Okay, Victor. I will start out,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tricolor over Ste. Mère
ANDRÉ hesitated. “You wait for me at your house,” he said. “First, I have one thing to do.”
Victor stole a searching glance at the boy, then, almost reassured, he nodded and left the springhouse at once.