XI. A SIX WEEKS’ HIKE THROUGH FRANCE 91 XII. ON THE BATTLE LINES 99 XIII. IN THE TIDE OF BATTLE 106 XIV. THE CROIX DE GUERRE 114 XV. ON LEAVE OF ABSENCE 120 XVI. A STRANGE DESERTION 128 XVII. ANOTHER DESERTER 136 XVIII. A RAID ON THE ENEMY 143 XIX. THE GERMAN PEACE STORM 151 XX. AN ADVENTURE OF ARMS 161 XXI. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 169 XXII. HELD BY THE ENEMY 176 XXIII. A HAZARD OF FORTUNE 183 XXIV. LOOSE AMONG THE BOCHES 190 XXV. AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER 198 XXVI. A HOSPITAL CASE 208 XXVII. THE MIX-UP OF BATTLE 217 XXVIII. A MYSTERY SOLVED 224 XXIX. THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 230 * * * * * JED’S BOY CHAPTER I THE TRAMP BOY It was November, in the year 1914. The snow had come with the gloom of twilight, and an angry wind whistled over the Western Massachusetts hills. I was then a lad, trying to fill his father’s place on the farm. I had just finished milking when I heard Bill Jenkins, our hired man, call out in rasping tones, “No, there’s no work for you here, I tell you!” Turning, I saw at the barnyard gate the person to whom Bill had spoken. He was a tall slim boy apparently near my own age, fourteen. “What is it, Bill?” I said; “what does he want?” “You run along with your milkin’ pail,” said Bill. “I’ll ’tend to him. You don’t know nothin’ ’bout dealin’ with tramps.” I repeated my question, and the boy answered, “I am looking for work.” “An’ I told you there’s no work here for you,” said Bill roughly. “An’ if you can’t understand such plain words as them air, you’ll have to get a dictionary.” “Can’t I stay here over night?” persisted the boy. “I can pay for my lodging. It’s getting dark, and these parts are strange to me.” There was something in the high-pitched voice that told me the lad was weak as well as cold, and the trembling tones appealed to me more strongly than the request itself. There was, too, a peculiar accent in them that excited my curiosity. So before Bill could again interfere I answered, “Yes, you can stay; and if there is no other bed, you can sleep with me. I am sure mother will be willing.” “You are soft and foolish. You don’t understand folks that go traipsing ’round the country,” growled Bill. But ignoring his protests I led the way to the house, with the strange boy following. When we reached the kitchen and the lights were brought, Bill, with a surly air, carried the pail to the milk room. Mother coming in saw the boy and asked, “Who is this, David?” “A boy who wants to stay all night, Mother,” I replied, “and I have invited him to sleep with me. Can he?”