About four hundred yards from the lines they found the farm-house to which they had been sent. It was practically a ruin. The roof was gone, excepting over one room where a fire burned in a big fireplace, and where a great kettle swung on a heavy chain. This room had had one side blown out of it, so it was not much better off except in the matter of a rainstorm, than the other rooms that had four sides but no ceilings. It was too open to the weather for much use, however, and the small group of soldiers present were quartered in a cellar close by.
A young sentinel showed Zaidos and Velo the way down, and they rolled up in their blankets and tried to sleep. It was a difficult thing to do. Zaidos found that the steady tramping and kneeling of the day and evening had made his leg, so recently healed, ache badly. It throbbed and he turned and twisted in an effort to find a comfortable position.
Velo’s head ached splittingly, and he lay staring into the darkness, keeping company ever with the evil thoughts in his heart. He slept finally, however, and did not awake until Zaidos shook him by the shoulder and told him it was time for breakfast. The three-sided room with the fireplace had been turned into a kitchen, and the cooks were busy there when the boys went over. The meal tasted good, and although the coffee was thick and muddy, the boys partook of it eagerly. It was at least hot and sweet.
Velo gritted his teeth with exasperation as Zaidos strolled out and at once spoke to a soldier who sat by the door with a couple of letters and papers in his lap. It was so exactly like Zaidos to get acquainted without a moment’s delay. He smiled at the soldier, and in reply the young fellow made a place for him on the bench.
“Sit down, won’t you?” he said. “Mail has come, and I got more than my share.”
“Glad you fared well,” said Zaidos, taking the offered seat. “I see you have a paper. May I look at it?”
“Certainly!” said the soldier. “There is nothing in it. The war news is so censored over home now that you can’t get anything much out of the papers. I like ’em because I can read the home advertisements, and see notices of people I know, and watch what’s playing at the theatres. Makes me forget this rotten hole for awhile.”
“That’s so,” agreed Zaidos. “But just think how crazy all the people at home must be all the while to hear from you fellows at the front.”
“I think they are,” agreed the soldier. “I have a brother in France, too, and father has just sent me a letter from him. It’s fun to compare experiences. Want to read it? You may if you care to.”
“Of course I’d like to!” said Zaidos with his ready friendliness. “There is no one to write to me anywhere except some schoolmates over in America, and I don’t suppose I will hear from them for months.” He took the closely written sheets of thin paper, and read the letter, appreciating the spirit in which it was offered him.