On the afternoon of the fifth day he came back to billet from a trip to the schoolhouse looking completely disgusted. "Those pesky guys have got Gaston again," he announced, as he went over to where his three bunkies sat on the floor, backs propped against the wall, and busily engaged in writing letters. "They can keep him, too. I'm through being a father to an ungrateful brute that tries to butt his foster-parent over on sight." This nettled confession was received with shouts of unsympathetic laughter. "Oh, laugh now. It's very funny," jeered Bob. Nevertheless, he laughed, too, as he dropped down beside Jimmy. "Did he go for you? I'm surprised," teased Roger. "He's such a gentle, friendly beast." "Did he?" Bob snickered. "Those thieves had him tied to a post out in the school-yard. When he saw his papa, he lowered his head and came on the run. Good thing he was roped. You should have heard those ginks yell. They kidded Bobby to a finish. Said Gaston must have taken me for a Hun, and a lot of stuff like that. "They've got a mangy old red ribbon tied around his neck with an identification tag hung on it," continued Bob. "It was a blank tag, all right, but they've cut on it with a knife, 'Gaston, Platoon 4, 509th Infantry.' The robbers! Can you beat that? I certainly was good to that beast. Treated him fine, and spent a lot of time and money on him. That's the way, though. Be kind to your goat and somebody else'll get it. Bobby's all through being a foster-papa. He's going to spend his golden hours and copper coins on himself hereafter. I was bitterly deceived in Gaston." "Hope it won't wreck your young life," chuckled Jimmy. "Never I like him, that Gaston. He always the too fraish. I think mebbe him Boche goat an' no Franche. So is it he is the no good," giggled Ignace. "Well, I'm all done with him," declared Bob. "Hope he bowls over a few of those smarties in Platoon 4. He owes it to me to do it. My, what a busy little bunch you are. Guess I'd better write a few letters myself." "Go to it, then, and don't bother us," retorted Roger. "We want to get through with our writing before mess. To-night----" Roger was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Jimmy. The latter's glance happening to stray to an open door at the far end of the long, barn-like room, he leaped to his feet and hurried to it. A uniformed man stood on its threshold, his dark eyes roving up and down the place, as though in search of someone. "_Mon cher_, Blaise!" he exclaimed with outstretched hand as Jimmy neared him. "It is for you I have been searching." "We had given you up, sir." Jimmy was radiant with delighted surprise. "We thought you had been detailed to some special movement against the Boches." "Not as yet." Voissard smiled mysteriously. "I have been in Paris since last we met. But to-morrow night my work begins." Before he could say more, Jimmy's bunkies had come up, and were respectfully greeting the Flying Terror of France.