I think that I was, possibly, doing more than my share of sleeping, when Gordon awakened me, and with a motion to keep silent, said in a whisper: “There are some folks near here--quite a lot of them--sounds like women--and I think they are French. But as we used to say in the Medical School, ‘Don’t be sure of your subject until you are certain it is a dead one.’ So you stay here until I find out what it means.” It was a full half-hour before he returned, saying, “There is a nest of people in an underground dugout. I reckon that the question before the house is, shall we make their acquaintance, or skip them.” “Can you speak French?” I inquired. “Not ten cents’ worth,” he replied. “Can you?” “Well,” I said, following his simile, “about twenty cents’ worth.” “A few words,” he observed, “are sometimes better than a sermon.” “All right,” I said, “we will chance it.” “We’d better doll up a little first,” suggested Gordon. “You’d look better to get them weeds and burs out of your hair, chum.” “And you,” I retorted, “would look less like a bear from the wilderness if you shaved and washed.” “No soap or razor,” said Gordon, “but I will do it, if you will produce them.” “I am more provident,” I said; “when I travel, I travel first class”--showing a comb and other articles. “That’s fine!” he agreed. “But I don’t see what you carry a razor for with nothing to shave--that I can see.” When he had shaved, as he said, “with tears,” for he declared that the razor was as “full of gaps as a hand saw,” we were ready for the interview. After some search we found the entrance to the excavation, and introduced ourselves to the people. But instead of the welcome we had expected, they drew together like so many frightened sheep, and made outcries of fear and held up their hands in supplication. “We are Americans,” I said, expecting that this would calm their fears; but to my surprise they became still more frantic. Then an old crippled man cried out in broken English, “We know you--devils! The German soldiers have warned us that Americans are savages and kill everybody on sight.” It was some time before we convinced them that the Americans had come to France to help them, and were fighting on their side. This German lie to these people showed the deep cunning of the enemy to prejudice the French peasants against American soldiers. One old Frenchman told us that he had once lived in Montreal, and had a little shop there, but had come home two years before the war. The Germans, he said, had taken everything away from them and destroyed their homes. We tried to tell them of the victories the French and Americans had achieved, but they could not believe it; for the Germans had told them that they were besieging Paris and that London had been destroyed. It was hard to convince these poor people of the truth, and they still shrank at our approach.