"Can't you prevail upon your fairy godmother to provide breakfast first?" asked Stewart. "I'm sure you have only to wish for it, and the table would appear laden with an iced melon, bacon and eggs, crisp rolls, yellow butter, and a pot of coffee--I think I can smell the coffee!" He closed his eyes and sniffed. "How perfect it would be to sit right here and eat that breakfast and watch the Germans! Oh, well," he added, as she turned away, "if not here, then somewhere else. Wait! Isn't that a house over yonder?" It was indeed a tiny house whose gable just showed among the trees, and they made their way cautiously toward it. It stood at the side of a small garden, with two or three outbuildings about it, and it was shielded on one side by an orchard. No smoke rose from the chimney, nor was there any sign of life. And then Stewart, who had been crouching behind the hedge beside his companion, looking at all this, rose suddenly to his feet and started forward. "Come on," he cried; "the Germans haven't been this way--there's a chicken," and he pointed to where a plump hen was scratching industriously under the hedge. "Here is another sign," said the girl, as they crossed the garden, and pointed to the ground. "The potatoes and turnips have not been dug." "It must be here we're going to have that breakfast!" cried Stewart, and knocked triumphantly at the door. There was no response and he knocked again. Then he tried the door, but it was locked. There was another door at the rear of the house, but it also was locked. There were also three windows, but they were all tightly closed with wooden shutters. "We've got to have something to eat, that's certain," said Stewart, doggedly. "We shall have to break in," and he looked about for a weapon with which to attack the door. "No, no," protested the girl, quickly. "That would be too like the Uhlans! Let us see if there is not some other way!" "What other way can there be?" "Perhaps there is none," she answered; "and if there is not, we will go on our way, and leave this house undamaged. You too seem to have been poisoned by this virus of war!" "I only know I'm starving!" said Stewart. "If I've been poisoned by anything, it's by the virus of appetite!" "If you were in your own country, and found yourself hungry, would you break into the first house you came to in order to get food?" she demanded. "Certainly not--you would do without food before you would do that. Is it not so?" "Yes," said Stewart, in a low tone. "That is so. You are right." "Perhaps I can find something," she said, more gently. "At least I will try. Remain here for a moment," and she hurried away toward the outbuildings. Stewart stared out into the road and reflected how easy--how inevitable almost--it was to become a robber among thieves, a murderer among cut-throats. And he understood how it happens that in war even the kindliest man may become blood-thirsty, even the most honest a looter of defenseless homes.