They did not dare to sleep in a house, as it was certain that some official would inquire for their papers; and therefore, when it became dark, they turned off from the road and made for a wood, at a short distance from it. Here they ate their supper, laid a blanket on the ground, put the bundles down for pillows, and lay down close together, putting the other two blankets over them.
"It's mighty cold," Tim said, "but we might be worse."
"It's better than a prison in Pomerania, by a long way," Ralph answered. "By the look of the sky, and the dropping of the wind, I think we shall have snow before morning."
At daybreak, next morning, they were up; but it was some little time before they could start, so stiffened were their limbs with the cold. Ralph's prognostication as to the weather had turned out right, and a white coating of snow lay over the country. They now set off and walked, for an hour, when they arrived at a large village. Here it was agreed they should go in, and buy something to eat. They entered the ale house, and called for bread, cheese, and beer.
The landlord brought it and, as they expected, entered into conversation with them. After the first remarks--on the sharpness of the weather--Ralph produced a tin of portable soup, and asked the landlord if he would have it heated, for their uncle.
"He cannot, as you see, eat solid food," Ralph said; "He had his jaw broken by a shell, at Woerth."
"Poor fellow!" the landlord said, hastening away with the soup.
"Are you going far?" he asked, on his return.
"To Saint Goar," Ralph said.
"But why does he walk?" the landlord asked. "He could have been sent home, by train."