Father Meraut looked puzzled. "That's not French," he said; "I can't understand what they say. But they have on French uniforms! I wonder what regiment it can be. I'm going to find out." "We're not far from Fontanelle now," said Mother Meraut; "don't you think we'd better go on?" "We can't get there without stopping somewhere to eat, anyway," said Father Meraut. "It's already eleven o'clock, and I'd rather find out about the soldiers than eat." So they tied the Ark to a willow tree and went ashore. In a moment more they were in a city of soldiers, and Father Meraut was making friends with some of the men who were lounging near the cook-house, sniffing the savory smell of soup which issued from it in appetizing gusts. Pierre and Pierrette sniffed too, and even Mother Meraut could not help saying appreciatively, "That cook knows how to make soup." Pierre laid his hand upon his stomach and smacked his lips. "Pierre," said his mother, reprovingly, "where are your manners, child?" At that moment two soldiers were passing--one a tall, thin man, and one much smaller. They paused and laughed, and the tall man laid his hand on his stomach, too, and smacked his lips. "Are you hungry, kid?" he said genially to Pierre. Pierre looked blank. The short man punched the tall man in the ribs. "Don't you see he's French," he said derisively. "Did you think you were back home in Illinois? Why don't you try some of your parley-voo on him? You're not getting on with the language; here's your chance for a real Parisian accent." "Oh, g'wan," answered the tall man. "Try your own French on him! I guess it won't kill him; he looks strong." The short man came nearer to Pierre and shouted at him as if he were deaf. "Avvy-voo-doo faim?" Pierre withdrew a step nearer his mother and Pierrette. "Je ne comprends pas!" he said politely. "Pardon." The tall man took off his cap and rumpled his hair. "Try it again, Jim," he said, "even if he is scared. They look to me like refugees, and as if a good bowl of soup wouldn't strike their insides amiss, but your French would stampede a herd of buffaloes!" "Try it yourself, then," said the short man, grinning. The tall man sat down on a box at the door of the tent and beckoned to Pierre. "I say, kid," he began, "avvy-voo-doo-fam--fam?" He rubbed his stomach in expressive pantomime. "Mamma," cried poor puzzled Pierre, "he asks me if I have a wife, and rubs his stomach as if he had a stomach-ache. What does he mean?" Mother Meraut came forward, trying hard not to laugh. "Que voulez-vous, Messieurs?" she said politely. The tall man was on his feet instantly with his cap in his hand. "You see, ma'am," he began, "we're from the States-des Etats-Unis! We've come here to fight le Boche--savez-vows?--combattre le Boche!" He waved his arms frantically and made a motion as if shooting with a gun.