The huge Zeppelin drew its length along the grove, coming as close to the trees as it dared, then passed above, and after some circling lumbered away to the south.
"Good-bye, old Mr. Curiosity," exclaimed John. "You weren't invited here, and I don't care whether you ever come again. Besides, you're nothing but a big bluff, anyway. There's our flag, still standing straight out in the wind, so you can see every stripe on it, and yet you haven't, despite your visit, the remotest idea why it was put there!"
Weber smiled.
"They've all gone away as ignorant as they were when they came," he said, "but we must be due for a French visitor or two. After so long a run of Germans we should have Frenchmen soon."
"I begin to believe with you that Lannes will arrive some time or other. He flies fast and far and in time he must see our signal."
"I've never doubted it. Meanwhile I think I'll take a little luncheon, and I'd advise you to do the same. We haven't had such a bad time here, saving those random rifle shots from the biplane."
"Not at all. It's like watching a play, and you certainly have a clear field for observation, when you look up at the heavens. The stage is always in full view."
John was feeling uncommonly good. Their concealment while they watched the scouts and messengers from the skies coming to see the meaning of the flag had been easy and restful. Much of his long and painful tension had relaxed. The hum of distant artillery was in his ears as ever, like a moaning of the wind, but he was growing so used to it that he would now have noticed its absence rather than its presence. So he ate his share of bread and sausage with a good appetite, meanwhile keeping a watchful eye upon the heavens which burned in the same brilliant blue.
It was now about noon. The rain the night before had given fresh tints to the green of grass and foliage. The whole earth, indifferent to the puny millions that struggled on its vast bosom, seemed refreshed and revitalized. A modest little bird in brown plumage perched on a bough near them, and, indifferent too, to war, poured forth a brilliant volume of song.
"Happy little fellow," John said. "Nothing to do but eat and sleep and sing."