"Get along with your foolishness," his aunt replied. "I've known plenty of Germans. They weren't much different from any other kind of humans I ever saw. Burn and steal and murder? What next! Get on to school, Horace, or you'll be late."
The boy put on his cap and left the house.
The air was heavy with the smell of powder, drifting from the not-distant bombardment. Groups of villagers and peasants loitered aimlessly about the streets. Work was at a standstill. One of the old men called him.
"Was it you who caught the eagle?" he asked.
"Yes," Horace answered, "I caught him."
The old peasant chuckled with toothless gums.
"Perched on a pole he is," he said, "and we'll have the Kaiser himself there, presently."
"Where is the bird?" asked the boy.
"In front of the inn. Croquier's got it. He won't take his eyes off it."
A few steps brought Horace to the estaminet and there, blinking in the strong August sunlight, perched the eagle that he had captured the night before. During the night an excessively strong cage had been made of twisted strips of wrought iron. It would have resisted an elephant's strength. Welded into the top of the cage was a ring and to this ring was fastened a steel chain. The end was clamped around Croquier's wrist.