"Same here; I'm a corporal, unless I'm officially dead. But that's neither here nor there. Question is, where am I?" "In Belgium, not so very far from Liége." "That's a blessing. It's a relief to know I'm not on rotten German soil. But it's a long, long way to Tipperary." "What do you mean?" asked Kenneth in astonishment. The Northumberland Fusilier also betrayed surprise. "You've not heard that song? Well, where have you been to? But let's be on the move. It's cold enough, in all conscience, without standing still to be frozen. Where are you making for?" "The Dutch frontier--it's only about five or six miles off," replied Rollo. "Not this child," declared the man vehemently. "So we part company, chums." "Why?" asked Kenneth. "I'm trying to rejoin my regiment. As for being interned in Holland, I'm not having any." "You won't be interned; you're in mufti. Have you any idea how far you'll have to tramp? Across Belgium and a part of France--every mile of the way held by the enemy. Where are the British now?" "Pushing the Germans back from Paris, chum; that's what they were doing when I got copped." "We were told that the British army was annihilated." "Some rotten German yarn," exclaimed the corporal contemptuously. "Take it from me, as one who knows, the Germans have bitten off more than they can chew. But is that right that the Dutchmen won't keep us till the end of the war?" "Certainly, provided you are not in uniform." "That settles it, then," declared the man. "By the right--slow march. There's a plank bridge a little way farther up-stream." This obstacle having been surmounted, the three fugitives made in a northerly direction. Only once in half an hour did the Northumberland Fusilier break the silence. "Got any tommy?" he asked. "Any grub?" "Not a crumb." "Rough luck! I haven't had a bite for sixteen hours or more, and my belt's in the last notch." "How far have you come?" asked Rollo. "Goodness only knows. Aching's the name of the show." "Aching?" repeated Kenneth in perplexity. "Yes, Aching," replied the man vehemently. "A fitting name, too. A-a-c-h-e-n, it's spelt, so there!" The lads understood. He had spelt the German name for the town of Aix-la-Chapelle. His progress, then, had been very slow--sixteen hours to cover about twelve miles. "That's Aubel," whispered Kenneth, pointing to a group of houses showing up against the sky. "We must cross the line here." A hurried consultation followed, in which it was decided that Kenneth should take the lead, the others following at twenty paces interval. As they approached the line of telegraph posts Kenneth made his way ahead and dropped on his hands and knees. In this position he covered the hundred yards that separated him from the railway. He listened. There was no mistaking the sound he heard. The noise of heavily-nailed boots treading slowly upon the frosty permanent-way was drawing nearer.