"Are you English?" the officer demanded in that tongue, a look of hate on his face.
"Is that an English flag?" she replied testily.
"We have come to search the house," said the officer and strode forward.
"Search nothing!" declared Aunt Abigail. "This is an American house!" and she slammed the door in his face.
There was a heated conference outside between the German officer and the mayor, but the result was that the search-party passed on. The telegraph lines were not yet closed and Germany was still trying to keep the friendship of the United States.
Meantime, school had opened with but few boys present, for almost half of the boys had fled with their families, and many of those remaining had been kept at home by their frightened parents. As the morning wore on, however, a few of the boys came straggling in. Jacques Oopsdiel, the bell-ringer, the youngest boy in the school, was one of those who had remained. The lads struggled hard to keep discipline under the strong spirit of the placard on the master's chair, but the excitement of the morning had been too great and little work was done.
Suddenly, an ominous figure darkened the wide-open door.
"What is this—a school?" the officer of the search-party asked, in German.
"Yes," answered Horace, taking the lead, as head boy, now that Deschamps was no longer there, but answering in French.