“I can’t help it,” said Beany. “They are whispering in German.”
“All right,” said Porky, reluctantly turning toward the spot indicated by Beany. “We’ll go over and see what it is, and if there are any Germans holed up around here, we’ll sick on a few troops.”
They did not stand up again, but slowly and with the greatest caution approached a small hillock that stood slightly away from the steeper hills. It was not wooded enough to afford any shelter, nor was it high enough to be a good spot for a gun. For that or for some other reason, the enemy had failed to shell it.
On the side toward the Allies a pile of high boulders was tumbled. The rest was grass grown. Beany, whispering softly in his brother’s ear, insisted that the voices came from this place.
“Then they are underground,” whispered Porky in his turn.
Slowly, ever so slowly they crept up to the little hill and lay in the darkness, listening. Certainly through the grass and stones of the mound came the muffled sound of cautious voices. If they had been speaking English, it is probable that even Beany’s wizard ears would not have caught the sound. But the harsh guttural German, even when whispered, seemed to carry far.
“I don’t see how you heard ’em,” breathed Porky. “It’s hard enough to believe now. What do you suppose it all means?”
“Search me!” Beany breathed in return.
“What they doing over on our side?” wondered Porky.
“It’s a good place all right,” said Beany against his brother’s ear as they lay close to the grass.