The camp lay on the side of a hill about half-way between the farm and Brackenfield, near enough to distinguish the latter building quite plainly in the distance. It was surrounded by an entanglement of barbed wire, and there were sentries on duty. Within the circle of wire were tents, and the girls could see washing hanging out, and a few figures lying on the ground and apparently smoking. They would have liked to linger and look, but Miss Norton marched them briskly past, and discipline forbade an undue exhibition of curiosity. They had gone perhaps only a few hundred yards when they heard the regular tramp-tramp of footsteps, and up from the dell below came a further batch of prisoners under an escort of soldiers. Miss Norton hastily marshalled her flock, and made them stand aside to allow the contingent room to pass. They were a tall, fine-looking set of men, stouter, and apparently better fed, than their guards. They had no appearance of hard usage or ill treatment, and were marching quite cheerily towards the camp, probably anticipating a meal. The girls, drawn up in double line, thrilled with excitement as they passed. "If one tried to run away would they shoot him?" asked Betty in an awed voice. "Yes, the guards have their rifles all ready," replied Marjorie; "if one tried to escape he'd have a bullet through his back in a second--and quite right too! What's the matter, Chrissie?" "Nothing--only it makes me feel queer." "I feel queer when I remember how many of our own men are prisoners in Germany," declared Winifrede. "Quietly, girls! And don't stare!" said Miss Norton. "We ought to pity these poor men. It is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of war." "I don't pity them," grumbled Marjorie fiercely under her breath. "Perhaps they're the very ones who've been fighting Leonard's regiment." "Yes, when one thinks of one's brothers, it doesn't make one love the Germans," whispered Winifrede. "Love them!" flared Marjorie. "I wouldn't consciously speak to a German for ten thousand pounds, and if I happened by mistake to shake hands with one--well, I'd have to go and disinfect my hand afterwards!" "Miss Norton's welcome to them if she pities them," said Betty from behind. "Go on, girls, now!" came the teacher's voice, as the contingent tramped away into the camp. "I'm disgusted with Miss Norton!" groused Marjorie. "Come along, Chrissie! What's the matter with you, old sport? Anybody'd think you'd seen a ghost instead of a batch of Germans. Why, you've gone quite pale!" "I'm only tired," snapped Chrissie rather crossly. "You're always making remarks about something. I'm going to walk with Patricia." "Oh, all right! Just as you please. I don't press myself on anybody. I'll walk with Winifrede again if she'll have me." CHAPTER XX Patriotic Gardening