"I thought about it," said Tom, who indeed seldom forgot anything, "but I didn't say anything about it 'cause it kind of makes me think about what happened—I mean how they took her away," he added, in his dull way.
For a minute they sat silently gazing down at the vineyard which was now touched with the first crimson rays of sunset.
"You can just see the chimney," Tom said; "see, just left of that big tree.—I hope I don't see Frenchy any more now 'cause I wouldn't like to have to tell him——"
"We don't know what happened," said Archer. "Maybe therre werren't any otherr soldierrs; she may have escaped—and her motherr, too."
"It's more likely there were others, though," said Tom. "I keep thinking all the time how scared she was and it kind of——"
"Let's look at the papers," said Archer.
The German soldier must have been a typical Boche, for he carried with him the customary baggage of written and statistical matter with which these warriors sally forth to battle.
"He must o' been a walking correspondence school," said Archer, unfolding the contents of the parchment envelope. "Herre's a list—all in German. Herre's some poetry—or I s'pose it's poetry, 'cause it's printed all in and out."
"Maybe it's a hymn of hate," said Tom.
"Herre's a map, and herre's a letter. All in Gerrman—even the map. Anyway, I can't understand it."