Those old people had the right spirit in their hearts. The man, yes, and even the old housewife also, would have been ready and willing to risk and lose their own lives in the great cause of king and country. To discover that their only boy had a “yellow streak” in his nature filled them with shame and bitter regret. They feared that if the truth ever became known they might never again look their friends and neighbors in the face—those devoted patriots on all sides who had made the greatest possible sacrifices.
Jack was almost as much shaken with compassion for the couple as Amos gave evidence of being. He put out a hand and seized that of the man, which he insisted on squeezing in his whole-hearted boyish fashion.
“I am sorry that we forced you to tell us this, François Bart,” he said, and at the time Amos wondered why his chum spoke so loudly, until presently he remembered that the boy soldier was just beneath that floor, and could possibly overhear every word that was said, as Jack doubtless intended should be the case.
“You see, M’sieu,” explained the peasant abjectly, “Jean is our child, and we love him. We could not turn him away from our door, for if seen he might be arrested and shot at ten paces. So we are in great distress of mind. We could let everything we have in this world go, and still smile, but to know that our flesh and blood is a—coward. Oh! that is worse than death itself to both of us.”
“Then you do not stand back of him in his desertion?” asked Jack.
“M’sieu, if the news came to us that our Jean had fallen covered with glory in his place at the front we could rejoice, and be satisfied, for we must always remember that he gave his poor life for our country. But that he should turn out to be a deserter, and run from duty breaks our hearts!”
Jack felt sure he detected some sort of movement under the floor. He believed the wretched Jean must have his ear pressed against the boards, and was not losing a single word of all that they said. So when he spoke again the ranch boy kept his voice at a pitch sufficiently high to be heard.
“We are sorry for you, François,” he said. “It must be a terrible thing for a father and mother in Belgium to know that their only son is a coward, and that he has allowed his fears to force him to shirk his plain duty to his king. Have you done all you can to convince him of his mistake?”
“M’sieu, we have pleaded, and almost threatened, but he keeps on saying that although his heart seems to be brave enough, his legs refuse to carry him again into the terrible battle where his comrades are falling all around him.”
“Then he has already been under fire?” asked Jack, in a surprised tone.