a hard-working people, not like the lazy Belgians. The harder the
work the better we like it. The soldiers will have a fine time
chopping down your tough beeches."

The slender old man drew himself up, his eyes flashed, he was driven
to bay.

"You shall not do this," he cried. "It is an outrage, a sacrilege.
I shall appeal to the commandant. He will protect my rights."

The officers looked at each other. Deaf to pity, they had keen ears
for danger. A reproof, perhaps a punishment from their superior
would be most unpleasant. They hesitated to face it. But they were
too obstinate to give up their malicious design altogether with a
good grace.

"Military necessity," growled the prince, "knows no private rights.
I advise you, baron, not to appeal to the commandant. It will be
useless, perhaps harmful."

"Here, you," he said gruffly, turning to the corporal, "carry out
my orders. Cut the two marked beeches by the gate. Then take your
men into the park and cut the biggest trees there. Report for
further orders to-morrow morning."

The wooden-faced giant saluted, swung on his heels, and marched
stiffly out. The baron followed him quickly.

He knew that entreaties would be wasted on the corporal. How to get
to the commandant, that was the question? He would not be allowed