I was lying down composing the tentative menu for One Grand Feast when I should be restored to freedom (as all men do when they are suffering from hunger), when I heard a cheery voice: “Any _Engländer_ there?” “Any _Engländer_ there?” it came again. “Yes, mate,” I shouted, and followed the voice to a knot-hole in the wall, “K. R. R.” “I’m Australian. How’re you getting on? Say, turn your stove around, lad, and put your arm up to the chimney. I’ve some soup for you!” I made haste to do as I was told. “That’s right, Jack, right around. Now, get this!” One chimney served for the stoves in both rooms, and by turning his own stove around, he was able to get his arm through and pass me a “bully” tin full of soup. It was rotten stuff, and mixed with soot from the chimney but at the moment, it was better than the food of the gods. “Good Old Auzzie!” I said fervently. The next day I was carried before the officer of justice for trial. Finding that I spoke German he dismissed the interpreter and as usual in the case of prisoners with an appearance of education, gave me a painstaking hearing. He wished not only to know the details of my flight, but what college I had attended, what studies I had pursued, and my general life story. “You have broken German martial law,” he said gravely, in conclusion, “and must be punished, but I shall make it light. I give you seven days’ arrest.” “But what about the seven I have already done?” I broke in. “Ach, that wasn’t punishment,” he explained, “that was _hospitality_! We couldn’t leave you in the street, you know. Seven days arrest,” he continued, “subject to reduction to two on report of good conduct. You will be sent back to the farm, and if you repeat this nonsense, I shall deal severely with you. On the other hand, you may be assured of good treatment until the end of the war--if you _do your duty_!” “My duty!” I exclaimed. “My _duty_, _Herr Leutnant_, would be to poison all the horses and set fire to the barns.” He dismissed me laughing. “_Das ist ja Krieg!_”[18] was his only comment. The proposed return to Gadebusch had evidently fallen through. I completed the _Hungerstraf_ and afterward spent a few extra days in the work barrack before the guard came to take me back to the farm. The ration in the work barrack differed from that in the _Hungerstraf_ in that they mixed a few carrots and potatoes with the water and called it soup. At all events it was calculated to give us the stamina necessary for work. We were marching out to work one afternoon when I was astonished to see one of the Frenchmen in the party run up to the guard and embrace him affectionately. “_C’est toi, Paul!_”[19] “_François! Mon vieux!_”[20]