and swung it out to the west toward England and France with an
eager, craving fire in her eyes, and then she swept it across in front of
her as if she were sweeping a spider off a table. When it stopped at
arm's length there was the triumph of hate in her eyes. I thought of
the lid of a cauldron raised to let out a burst of steam as she asked
"When?" When? When would the Allies come and turn the Germans
out?

She was a kind, hardworking woman, who would help any stranger in
trouble the best she knew how. Probably that Saxon whose smile had
spread under his scarf had much the same kind of wife. Yet I knew
that if the Allies' guns were heard driving the Germans past her
house and her husband had a rifle, he would put a shot in that
Saxon's back, or she would pour boiling water on his head if she
could. Then, if the Germans had time, they would burn the farmhouse
and kill the husband who had shot one of their comrades.

I recollect a youth who had been in a railroad accident saying: "That
was the first time I had ever seen death; the first time I realized what
death was." Exactly. You don't know death till you have seen it; you
don't know invasion till you have felt it. However wise, however able
the conquerors, life under them is a living death. True, the farmer's
property was untouched, but his liberty was gone. If you, a well-
behaved citizen, have ever been arrested and marched through the
streets of your home town by a policeman, how did you like it? Give
the policeman a rifle and a fixed bayonet and a full cartridge-box and
transform him into a foreigner and the experience would not be any
more pleasant.

That farmer could not go to the next town without the permission of