The night was not far distant, and Rod had to bear this fact in mind. Where were they to secure anything to eat in the midst of all this turmoil and confusion? So far as a bed went they could do without, nor would it be the first time such a thing had happened in their eventful career.
“Looks as if we might have outrun the Boches, Rod,” called Josh, using a term he had heard some of the Frenchmen apply toward the Germans, though no one seemed able to explain where it had originated, or just what it meant, save that it was intended as a term of derision, the same as “Yanks” and “Johnny Rebs” passed current during the Civil War between the States.
“Yes, that’s all very well,” replied Rod, “but it doesn’t cut any figure when we try to run across a house where we’re going to get our suppers, and find a place to sleep.”
“Oh! we’re sure to come to some sort of French farmer’s place sooner or later!” declared the confident Josh; “and if they’re anything like the little woman who took care of us this noon it’ll be a picnic.”
Ten minutes later, as they were negotiating a bad section of the road, Rod made an announcement that sent a wave of thanksgiving through the hearts of his chums.
“Farmhouse ahead half a mile or so,” was the burden of his call; “I glimpsed it against that bright place in the sky. As the sun’s already gone down we’ll have to take our chances, and apply for lodging there.”
“I’m with you, Rod!” called out Josh immediately, while Hanky Panky added:
“I only hope none of the enemy slip up in the night and gather us in, that’s all.”