attention. The strange sound grew louder. He stood up. Then, with a
mighty crash and roar, the earth about him rose up and darkness
overwhelmed him. A German shell had landed fairly in the village
street hard by and half buried the child in the wreckage. Remi,
bruised and with clothing torn, dug himself out practically unharmed.
He shook his fist in the direction of the German lines.

"'The Boches!' he breathed, clenching both fists. 'I _must_ have a
rifle. Having none, I am good for nothing.'

"For a few moments he stood observing the stretcher men gathering up
those who had been wounded in the explosion. He did not quail at sight
of the maimed forms before him--he was unafraid, but his childish face
drew down into hard lines that made him look years older. He knew now
that he must join his company and fight for France. After what he had
seen nothing should hold him back. Perhaps once at the front he might
find a gun. Remi tried to enter the communicating trench, but was
stopped by a sentry. He was still undaunted. It was the odor of
cooking that finally led to the solution of his problem. He followed
his nose, as the saying goes, because he was hungry. He found the
cooks at work, as he learned, preparing food to be carried to the men
in the front-line trench. The boy promptly offered his services to
help carry in the food. You see, Remi used his head.

"'What nursery do you belong to?' jeered the mess sergeant.

"'Thirty-first Territorials, Company C,' answered the lad promptly,
his quick reply bringing a laugh in which the mess sergeant joined
heartily.