'Please, Colonel,' he said, 'do not shoot me! I am not a spy—indeed I am not! My name is Fritz Nestor, and I live with my mother in Schustadt.'
The men standing round could not resist smiling at this odd speech, for they knew nothing of Schmidt's 'joke,' and the Colonel, bending down so as to be more of a level with the little fellow, said in a half-puzzled tone:
'You surely cannot think we should shoot you! We are not in an enemy's country, and if we were we do not shoot children. What could have put such a ridiculous idea into your head?'
'He said so,' said the boy, pointing to the corporal, whose very pigtail quivered with fear at being thus brought to his Colonel's notice.
The Colonel straightened himself and looked full at the corporal, who was standing stiffly at his right hand. 'Next time you wish to play a practical joke, corporal,' he said sternly, 'let it be with a man, and not a child! Now, my little fellow,' he said, turning to the boy, 'you may take my word for it that no one will hurt you. Can you show us the right way to Schustadt? I suppose you know it?'
'Oh, yes, sir,' said the boy brightly. 'It is barely a mile away.'
'That is good hearing,' said the Colonel, and the men were quickly recalled, and the march began once more, the boy stepping out bravely in front of the column, much preferring the part of guide to that of a spy.
THE PROMISE OF THE STORM.
