One of the men, half understanding English, lurched forward savagely, but a non-commissioned officer pushed him back.
"Let her alone," he said, "we've gone far enough."
Aunt Abigail saw the action.
"You're a man," she said, "at least."
Then stepping out before the rifles, she knelt beside the groaning form of little Jacques Oopsdiel.
Horace, who had followed his aunt, realized that the Germans might hold back from murder while they were still shaken by their lieutenant's death by lightning, but it was quite likely that they would shake off this merciful mood. A reckless desire on the part of each soldier to show his comrades that he was not afraid might spur them to any extremity. The moment must be seized. So, stepping forward quietly, he picked up the body of Jacques in his arms and started up the street.
"Where are you going, Horace?" his aunt demanded.
"To the house, Aunt," the boy replied, "this little chap needs nursing."
The word "nursing" was as a battle cry to Aunt Abigail. Ever since the first wounded man had been brought into Beaufays, she had slaved night and day, giving her time to Germans and Belgians alike. Hence, when Horace carried the injured lad toward the house, his aunt followed without further question.