"She has got to go or there's no saying what will happen," the hunchback answered. "I'm not telling what I think, but what I know. Bring her here at once, but do it, if you can, so that none of the wounded suspect anything."
The boy thought for a moment.
"I'll try," he said.
Slipping on some clothes, the boy went stumbling noisily through the next room where two wounded German officers were lying. He knew, if he stepped softly, it might arouse suspicion. Reaching his aunt's room, he said loudly, as he knocked and was bidden enter,
"Aunt Abigail, I'll have to have that mustard poultice put on, after all."
The woman looked at him shrewdly. Knowing that nothing had been said that evening concerning a poultice, she realized that there was a meaning hidden behind the words.
"Do you need it now?" she asked.
"Right away, please," the boy replied. "I'll go back to my room and be ready as soon as you come."
The old maid got up hastily. Taking the still warm kettle from the stove and carrying a box of mustard, she passed by the wounded officers into the lad's room beyond.
A whispered word or two cleared up the situation.