Again he went into the cellar. Little by little the hardened earth was shoveled away under his feeble grasp, until he was able to crawl into the opening. The air smelled close and moldy. "One--two--three--" Jozef counted the ten steps which he remembered having taken and looked around. No food was to be seen. He searched for the shelves--but they also had vanished. [Illustration: "HE DROPPED HIS TREASURE AT RUZENA'S BEDSIDE"] Dumbfounded and sadly disappointed, he retraced his steps. But instead of getting back to the opening, he unexpectedly found himself in another passage, and there, oh, joy! his food! Loading his arms, he staggered out. Without locking the cellar door, he made his way dizzily across the street. "Thanks be to the blessed Virgin!" exclaimed his mother in the midst of her amazement as he sank on his knees and dropped his treasure at Ruzena's bedside. CHAPTER XII UNCLE JOZEF'S STORY I WAS drafted in July, 1915, and sent with others to a Hungarian training camp. We were not there long before we heard that we were to go to the front. On the day of departure, Anka, to whom I am engaged, came to the station with my mother. There were, of course, many other women, all with flowers in their arms and all with eyes red from weeping. For they did not want us to go to fight those who had done us no harm. My father, who had always been a great patriot, could not come, but he sent me these words which he had painstakingly copied from our greatest poet: "It is shameful when in misery to moan over our fate; he who by his deeds appeases the wrath of Heaven, acts better. Not from a tearful eye but from a diligent hand fresh hope will blossom. Thus even evil may yet be changed to good." Later this fell into the hands of a German, but he did not understand it. I did. It was hard to part. My mother, in the midst of her uncontrollable sobs, whispered: "Jozef, when the time comes, you know what you must do." It was hard to part. At the end, Anka gave me some red and white ribbon, the Czech and Slovak colors, which I tied around my rifle. It did not remain there long, for when the Magyar captain in charge of our battalion saw it, he swore savagely, and taking his saber, cut it off and stamped it under his heels. Not satisfied, he deliberately hit me a blow from which I suffered for many days. At the same time he muttered: "Take care what you are about, you Slovak dog!" My companions were as indignant as myself at the insult to our colors to which we have every right. "If a time comes when we can revenge ourselves, we'll not forget," we promised one another.