This next stage of the journey meant quicker and easier advance than that of the night before. The pony was both strong and willing; and all through the hours of darkness they were getting farther and farther away from Bitche. By dawn of day the fear of pursuit was immensely lessened. Even if the gendarmes had overtaken them, they would hardly have suspected the odd figure in a smart old coat and ancient cocked hat of being the temporary wood-chopper at Bitche, or the black-haired boy in a rough blouse of being their prisoner, Roy Baron. For greater safety, both that day and the next, they found a retired spot in which to hide, letting the pony loose to browse and rest on some rough ground, or putting up it and the cart at a wayside inn, and calling for it later. One way and another, the dreaded pursuit was eluded; and, as day after day went by, Roy felt himself indeed free and on the road for Home. * * * * * “Why should you not come with me to England, Jean? I can promise you that you’d be well looked after there by my friends,” urged Roy. He had grown sincerely fond of this kind, thoughtful Frenchman. They were now fast nearing the coast, and their next halting-place was to be at a farm-house within sight of the sea. There they would have to remain until an opportunity should occur for Roy to cross the Channel. Since he had no passport he could not attempt to journey by the ordinary routes. But even here Jean’s resources did not fail, and the owners of the said farmhouse were near relatives of his own. “Non, M’sieu. I should feel strange in another country. Also—have I not promised to let Monsieur le Capitaine, and Monsieur votre Père, and Madame votre Mère, hear of your safety? Could I disappoint them?” “But, I say, will it be safe for you to go back to Verdun? What if they find out that you have helped me to get away?” “They will not find out, M’sieu. It was known that I should leave Bitche that night—and my friends will have diverted suspicion from me. Moreover, it is no such hard matter to make a little disguise of myself—if need be.” Then they reached the farm, and Roy found himself among friends, ready all to shield him for Jean’s sake. It was decided that he should work as a boy upon the farm, sufficiently to draw no attention upon himself, since the waiting for a passage might be long. Roy was willing to be or to do anything, if only he might at last escape to England. The farmer’s eldest son, a soldier by conscription in the army of Napoleon, had been a prisoner in England; and he, like Roy, had made his escape, getting safely back to France. Roy, immensely interested in this story, plied the farmer and his wife with questions as to the experiences of the young fellow in an English prison—questions which they were not loath to answer. They had, of course, the whole story at their fingers’ ends.