Monday morning we dragged our tired feet along the four miles to the turnip-patch—with every appearance of complete submission. I had the compass in the middle of a package of tobacco; my maps were still in the pay-book case in my pocket.
We gave ourselves up to the joy of labor, and pulled weeds all day with great vigor. We wanted to behave so well that they wouldn't notice us. Of course we were not sure that any chance would come. We might have to carry our stuff for several days before we should get a chance.
That night we came into the kitchen again and sat down at the long table. Every one was hungry and fell to eating without a word. No wonder the guard thought he had a quiet, inoffensive gang whose only thought at that moment was fried potatoes. The potatoes were good, hot from the frying-pan, and we ate as many as we could, for we believed it might be a long time before we again sat at a table.
The guard, at last, satisfied that we were all right, strolled into the next room—a sort of dining- and living-room, where the family were eating. We could hear fragments of conversation and some laughter, and it seemed a good time to slip away! We crowded down a few more fried potatoes, and then leisurely left the table and looked out of the window.
A big black cloud had come up from the west, and although it was still early in the evening it was beginning to grow dusk. Outside there was no one stirring but the young lady feeding the pigs, and she was not taking any notice of any one. She was a fine example of the absorbed worker. We lit our pipes and strolled out to enjoy the cool of the evening.
The pigs were gathered about the trough, protesting the distribution of their evening meal, squealing "Graft" and calling for a commission to settle it. The lady took no notice of them. They could settle it among themselves. They did not need to eat at all if they didn't want to. She should worry. It was take it or leave it—for all she cared! She had gone as far as she was going to, in bringing it to them.
We looked back at the kitchen. Fried potatoes still held the attention of the prisoners, and the guard was not to be seen.
We turned around the front of the house and found ourselves on the shaded street. There was a row of trees along each side of the street and the houses were built well back. It was not the main street of the village and had more the appearance of a lane. We had concluded that even if the alarm were given, we should only have the one guard to deal with, for the prisoners would not pursue us, neither would the farmer.
The big danger was in the fact that the guard had his gun, and if he saw us would shoot, but the shady lane was deserted and still, and we pushed on with an unconcerned stride that covered the ground, but would not attract the attention of the casual observer.
When we came to the edge of the village, we saw the wood which we had observed when coming in from work both days, and which seemed to promise shelter, although the trees were small. We passed through it quickly, and kept it between us and the village until we reached a ditch two and a half or three feet deep and overgrown with heather. By this time it was beginning to rain, for which we were glad, for it would discourage travelling and drive indoors those who had any place to go to. We crawled on our hands and knees along the ditch, whose bottom was fairly dry and grassy, until we found a place where the heather hung well over the edge and made a good protection. We could look through the heather at the village, which was about six hundred yards away!