Mr. Shutliffe, of Stiffkey, had led his cow in from the marsh, and was about to close the cow-barn door, when three soldiers appeared suddenly around the wall of the village church. They ran directly toward him. It was nine o'clock, but the twilight still held. The uniforms the men wore were unfamiliar, but in his day Mr. Shutliffe had seen many uniforms, and to him all uniforms looked alike. The tallest soldier snapped at Mr. Shutliffe fiercely in a strange tongue.
“Du bist gefangen!” he announced. “Das Dorf ist besetzt. Wo sind unsere Leute?” he demanded.
“You'll 'ave to excuse me, sir,” said Mr. Shutliffe, “but I am a trifle 'ard of 'earing.”
The soldier addressed him in English.
“What is the name of this village?” he demanded.
Mr. Shuttiffe, having lived in the village upward of eighty years, recalled its name with difficulty.
“Have you seen any of our people?”
With another painful effort of memory Mr. Shutliffe shook his head.
“Go indoors!” commanded the soldier, “And put out all lights, and remain indoors. We have taken this village. We are Germans. You are a prisoner! Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, thank'ee, sir, kindly,” stammered Mr. Shutliffe. “May I lock in the pigs first, sir?”