"Now, this uncle belonged to a military organization called the Territorials, something like our National Guard, and a few weeks later they also were called to march forth and join the French Army. Remi was to be left in the care of the neighbors. That was the plan made by the uncle. The little French lad, however, had his own ideas about that, but kept his plans to himself. He now forgot all about going to school, and spent his time watching his uncle's comrades drill--watched until he knew every command, every evolution so well that he himself could have drilled the company of his uncle. "As you children perhaps already have surmised, it was Remi's plan to go to war and fight for his country. The order for the Territorials to move came suddenly, as such orders most always do. They came while the lad was having a supper of black bread and cheese with a friendly housewife of the neighborhood. The Territorials were to march within an hour. "Remi's eyes grew bright. He stowed what was left of his meager supper into his blouse and strolled out. Once clear of the house, he ran swiftly to the edge of the village, and from the end of a hollow log drew forth a canvas bag. He inspected the contents, which included a knife, some string, a clean pair of stockings and one change of underwear. He had picked up an old pack discarded by a soldier, and made it his own, secreting it for just such a moment as this. The child stowed his belongings back in the pack, added the cheese and bread, and, swinging the pack over his shoulder, started at a brisk trot for the gathering place of the Territorials. The men of his uncle's company already had reached the scene, loaded down with equipment, rifles brightly polished, looking very warlike with their outfits and tin derbies--" "What's a tin derby?" interjected Joe Funk. "There, you have interrupted me," rebuked the Captain. "Remember, a soldier's first duty is to obey orders. A tin derby is a steel helmet or hat which is used as a protection against the splinters thrown off from an exploding shell. Where was I?" "In a tin derby, sir," reminded Joe Funk. "Little Remi," continued the Captain, "kept in the background and, in the excitement of the moment attracted no attention. Shortly after his arrival the Territorials fell into line and started away. Remi melted away in the darkness, and might have been observed legging it across a field in a short cut to a point where he knew the soldiers would pass. And, after they had marched by he fell in at a safe distance behind and trudged along on his way to war.