"Belgium is a busy manufacturing country, too, or has been up to now," Merritt continued, which information he may have remembered from his training at school, or else found in some guide-book purchased in New York City before their steamer sailed for England.
"I wonder what we'll strike on the other side of this wood?" Tubby questioned, always speculating on things to come; and possibly hoping then and there they might run across a hospitable farmer who would kindly offer to provide them with some sort of breakfast.
"That's yet to be seen," Merritt told him. "Here's where there seems to be a sort of swampy patch, with water and bogs. Listen to the frogs croaking, will you? And I can see more than a few whoppers, too. Chances are this is a frog farm that supplies the big hotels in Brussels and Antwerp. You know the French are keen on frogs' legs, and pay fancy prices for them by the pound."
"I've eaten them more than once," Rob informed them, "and I never had spring chicken that was more toothsome and tender."
Whereupon Tubby cast a wistful eye toward the border of the frogpond, where the big greenbacks could be seen, sitting partly in the water, and calling to one another socially.
The boys kept walking on, and finally came to where the trees began to get more scanty. About this time Rob made a discovery that was not at all pleasing.
"Hold up, fellows," he said in a hoarse whisper that thrilled Tubby in particular, "our road is blocked. There's a whole German army corps camped ahead of us; and it's either go back, or else hide here in the woods till they take a notion to break camp and clear out. Let's drop down in the brush and talk it over."