“Hang these open fields!—will they never end!” Desmond gasped. “We should be under cover now.”
Behind a little orchard a farm-house came into view; they were almost upon a cow-house. It was daylight; a window in the house rattled up, and a man shouted to a barking dog. The fugitives ducked by a sudden impulse, and darted into the cow-shed.
It was a long, low building, divided into stables. There was no hiding-place visible, and despair held them for a moment. Then Jim caught sight of a rough ladder leading to an opening in the ceiling, and flung his hand towards it; he had no speech left. They went up it hand over hand, and found themselves in a dim loft, with pea-straw heaped at one end. Desmond was almost done.
“Lie down—quick!” Jim pushed him into the straw and covered him over with great bundles of it. Then he crawled in himself, pulling the rough pea-stalks over him until he had left himself only a peep-hole commanding the trap-door. As he did so, voices came into the stable.
They held their breath, feeling for their knives. Then Desmond smothered a laugh.
“What did they say?” Jim whispered.
“It would be ‘Bail up, Daisy!’ in English,” Desmond whispered back. “They’re beginning to milk the cows.”
“I wish they’d milk Daisy up here,” Jim grinned. “Man, but I’m thirsty!”
It was thirsty work, lying buried in the dusty pea-straw, in the close, airless loft. Hours went by, during which they dared not move, for when the milking was done, and the cows turned out, people kept coming and going in the shed. They picked up a little information about the war from their talk—Jim’s German was scanty, but Desmond spoke it like a native; and in the afternoon a farmer from some distance away, who had apparently come to buy pigs, let fall the remark that a number of prisoners had escaped from the English camp. No one seemed much interested; the war was an incident, not really mattering so much, in their estimation, as the sale of the pigs. Then every one went away, and Jim and his companion fell asleep.
It was nearly dark when they awoke. The sleep had done them good, but they were overpoweringly thirsty—so thirsty that the thought of food without drink was nauseating. The evening milking was going on; they could hear the rattle of the streams of milk into the pails, in the intervals of harsh voices. Then the cows were turned out and heavy feet stamped away.