Ivanovich does not die today."

But Warren, weakened from, his hurts, laid his head down on his arms
with a groan.

Ivan looked at him pityingly. The loss of his little sister had almost
crushed Warren. He who was always the leading spirit, quick and
resourceful, was for the moment crushed.

Ivan did not speak. He respected the grief of his friend. He knew
that soon he would be himself again, planning for success.

Late that same afternoon three Boy Scouts sauntered down the dark and
twisted alley leading to the river. The section of the city was
strange to them, and it was now so wrecked by the recent bombardment
that the enemy themselves shunned it. The poor creatures that had once
found lodging in those dark holes of want and famine had all fled at
the first gunshot; and the boys idled here and there, looking at the
marks of the shots, and picking up many a queer memento of the battle.

Warsaw had fallen; but the spirit of boys is the same all the world
over. In their imaginations, even while the smoke of battle still hung
over the city, they had planned other and victorious battles. They had
already saved Warsaw for a wonderful golden future.

As they climbed around, one of them pointed to the broken plaster on
the ground.

"See!" he said. "A Scout! Two of them have been here. There are the
marks of the nails in their Scout shoes."