“You will come into my cave in the woods?” he beckoned, spreading out the bushes with his high hobnailed boots. “It is not to everyone that I give the invitation. You have come well recommended—by your faces and your good talk. You talk German—Dutch, you called it, you little Schweinerei!—Dutch it is not. Dutch is good. I can Dutch, but—this is my German day. Today, I welcome you as compatriots. Tomorrow, br-r-r,” scowling beautifully at “Chuck” Williams, “I may be French,” he glanced quizzically at the sky. “Then, you shall be my national enemy and I would—‘Vive la belle France! A bas les All’mands!’” he roared, making mimic charges at the delighted “Chuck.”
They were tramping through the thicket as they talked, shouted, and pantomimed. In a few steps they came upon a cosy clearing.
“Wilkommen alle! Sit down, please!” Bardek pointed to comfortable rocks.
A small portable tent stretched out before them. At the side, smoke curled from a rock-oven, which was at the same time a tiny forge. Bowing before the visitors was an unkempt Frau. She looked forty at first glance; in a little while she seemed not more than twenty-five. Twenty was probably nearer her right age. In her arms nestled a rather overgrown youngster; tugging at her skirts was another.
“My summer house; the lady of the summer house,” Bardek explained ironically. Then he looked expectantly toward the tent.
“Bist du noch nicht fertig, mein Kindschen?” he called eagerly. “Now you can come out. Two gentlemen—entschuldigen!—one gentleman and one Schweinerei would make call! Komm’, Liebschen!”
From within a familiar voice responded, but in German: “Just a minute, Bardek, please.... Now I am ready. Können die Herr’n raten wer ich bin?”
“She would know,” translated Bardek, “if the gentlemen can guess who she is.”
Without waiting for the guesses, he lifted the flap of the tent. Gorgas, enclosed head and body in a great green shawl, stepped calmly out and courtesied.
“Gee! This is great!” “Chuck” found voice for his glee. “It’s a dandy ‘hunky.’” “Hunky” is a boy’s secret hiding place. “I had a tent, once. Let’s have a tent out here, too, Mr. Blynn. We can live here and cook,” his greedy eye was devouring the perfect stone oven, “and study ’rithm’tic and things. Can’t we?”