Again the cheers broke forth.
Finnessy looked at Moloney.
“For the love of Mike!” said Finnessy.
“I believe ye,” said Moloney.
SOMEWHERE IN BELGIUM
By Percy Godfrey Savage
The crude little cottage had been surrounded and two stalwart peasant boys routed out, but only one gun had been found. Each lad stoutly swore that he was responsible for the sniping. The old mother stood near them.
“Choose one or we will shoot both!” the German officer again ordered the old woman.
Her shrunken, toil-worn frame seemed to suffer pain of death. She wound her rough hands in her apron. Terror, hatred, love, devotion, helplessness filled her eyes.
Alphonse, the tall, light-haired boy, was urging the smaller and more delicate Petro by gestures and eager, low words to yield the punishment to him.