“Funny little boat,” Peggy whispered.
“They used strange devices for hiding their messages.” Alice had a good memory. “Once when Louise was arrested she threw a black ball of yarn into the brush at the side of the road but held to the end until it had landed. The message was wound inside the ball of yarn.”
“They didn’t find it. That was good!” Tillie whispered. “Go on! What else?”
“Once the two girl spies seemed to be going on a picnic. They were munching bread and sausages as they marched along. Once more they were searched. Nothing was found. The message was in Louise’s sausage.
“Oh yes,” Alice drew a heavy sigh. “Those two girls did marvelous things for their country. They set up a secret radio and sent over messages. They trained carrier pigeons to take messages across the line. Daring Frenchmen were carried over the line in airplanes to spy out the enemy’s defenses. Louise helped them.
“And after that,” the story teller sighed more deeply, “there came darker days. The enemy counter-spies wove a web of evidence about them. They were arrested. Evidence was produced. They were court-martialed. The sentence was: ‘For Louise, death. For Charlotte, death.’”
“And—and were they really shot?” Peggy whispered with a shudder.
“Not yet.” Alice’s voice was low. “Their prison keeper had come to respect and love them as if they were his children.
“‘Poor souls’, he said, ‘So they have condemned you to die? Ask what you will. It shall be granted.’
“When the day for their execution was near,” Alice went on, “they requested that they might spend their last night on earth together.