"Oh! my stars!" groaned Tubby, "little did I ever dream that I'd stand a chance of being cooked before I'd been in Belgium two days. I always said I liked cold weather best, and now I know it. Baked or stewed or even broiled doesn't suit my taste."
"The fire next door is beginning to rage fiercely," remarked Rob. "The people are just standing on, and sullenly watching it burn. They don't seem to dare to offer to help save a single thing, because they might be shot down."
"That house is doomed!" asserted Merritt, gloomily.
"Better keep back more," cautioned Rob. "The light grows stronger all the while, you notice, and we might be seen up here by some Uhlan, who'd think it fine sport to send a shot if only to frighten us. I thought I saw one man glance up. If he happened to see that we wore khaki and had on these military looking hats he'd pass the word along that there were Belgian soldiers hiding in the inn."
"Please don't start a riot," begged Tubby. "It's sure bad enough as it stands without that happening. If we had wings now we might sail away. What wouldn't I give for an aëroplane to come along at this minute, and pick me up? Rob, has our house taken fire yet?"
At first Rob did not see fit to answer, upon which the suspicious Tubby pressed him to declare the truth.
"No matter how bad it is," he said soberly, "we should know the worst, instead of pulling the wool over our own eyes, and believing everything's lovely. How about it, Rob?"
"I'm afraid it's a bad job, Tubby."
"You mean we're on fire, do you?" questioned the other, with a hurried intake of his breath, as his heart possibly beat tumultuously with new apprehension.
"Yes, it's caught the end of the inn, and with that breeze blowing there isn't a chance for this house to be saved," Rob continued. "I'm sorry for the poor man who owns it; but then he'll be no worse off than tens of thousands of other Belgian sufferers."