"What?"
"He's coming!"
The crowd in the bushes stood tiptoe and breathless as the German spy came down the hawthorn path.
He was a small lad—small for the third grade—with big blue eyes and a shock of tawny hair. The Kaiser had not equipped him very well, for there was a suggestion of poverty about his mended clothes. But, after all, maybe those carefully darned places at his knees were only a part of an adroit disguise. His pockets were bulging, and with knotty-looking somethings very suggestive of poorly concealed bombs. He was not whistling, as a perfectly good American would have been, but walked slowly and with his head down. It was very suspicious!
He passed.
"Let's get him now!" suggested Luke.
"Good!" exclaimed Billy. "Get some rocks!" And instantly all was excitement, the uncensored noise of which reached the little German and caused him to take to his heels.
In the confusion of the next few moments Louise scarcely realized what they were about. But when they tore out of the bushes, snatching up rocks as they went, and rushed after their flying prey, her heart stood still. He was such a little boy!
With the back of her hand pressed tight against the sobs that would not be stifled, and with tears raining down her cheeks, the little girl followed in the wake of the howling mob.
Then somebody rounded a hawthorn bush and came bang up against her. It was Jimmie Fisher, a big, red-headed rock of strength, who could carry lightly the heaviest book-satchels there were.