“No, no,” cried the boy, quickly, “the man will drive us away. I would rather sleep under the trees.”
“We must risk being driven away, boy.” And just at dusk, where all was strange to them both, they approached another lonely cottage-like place, with barn and sheds and cattle near, Phil shrinking but taking heart as he found that a woman was the only person in sight.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she said, scanning them suspiciously.
“Travellers,” replied the Doctor, “trying to get where there is no war.”
“Ah!” cried the woman, quickly. “Yes. It is too dreadful; and you with that brave little man tramping like that. Soldiers—hundreds, thousands, have been by here to-day.”
“French or English?” cried Phil, excitedly.
“I could not tell,” said the woman, smiling, and patting the little fellow’s cheek. “Yours?” she added, to the Doctor, “or are you his grandfather?”
“No; he is my little pupil. I am his teacher.”
“And you are going away from the war because of him?”
“Yes,” said the Doctor, simply. “Will you give us a bed to sleep in, or clean straw in one of your sheds, with supper? I will pay you.”