"Then they're on both sides of me."
"And all around," said the farmer, nodding his head warningly.
"Isn't there a footpath, somewhere? I've got to get to Mons."
"With dispatches?"
"Yes."
The wagoner thought for a moment.
"I'll risk it," he said. "Put your machine in the hay and hide in it yourself."
"But if they search you?"
"They did it, only half an hour ago. They ordered me to deliver this hay to their forage depot, beyond Thuin, and said they'd cut my throat if I didn't. And I like my throat better than my hay. But I'm going to try and make them pay for it, just the same!"
"Then you ought to be able to pass," said the boy, with a quick hope.