My sentence of seven days’ arrest was to consist of seven consecutive Sundays of confinement in my room, in the attic, without food. What occasion I gave them for a report of good conduct I don’t know, but the seven days were mercifully reduced to two. Having a liberal supply of newspapers, tobacco and food concealed in my room and the German serving girl bravely passing me jugs of hot coffee by means of a string dropped from the window, I spent these two days quite pleasantly. It was during my detention that I learned of great success of our offensive and the probability of an early crash in Germany. From then on I read the newspapers with feverish interest whenever I could get them and made short translations on the backs of letters to be passed to other Englishmen in the village, and to the other villages. I grew restless and impatient as the rumors of capitulation and revolution became more insistent. I couldn’t wait to read the papers. I longed to hear and see more of the great things which were happening in the world outside of our sleepy village. At last I contrived to get as far as Parchim on the excuse of going for a bath. My sentry took me in the morning and brought me back in the afternoon. On the train the passengers were talking excitedly, but in subdued tones lest I should hear. A telegram was passed down the carriage. The gentleman on my right carefully passed it _around_ me to the gentleman on my left. “For God’s sake let me see it, _Kamarad_!” I begged. “_Nein. Es ist verboten._”[21] I studied the back of the paper as he held it up to read it and made out the word “Kaiser!” “_Bitte!_[22] _Bitte! Kamarad_,” I whispered, “is the Kaiser gone?” “Not yet, but soon!” he replied. The Parchim Railway station was heavily guarded by the Badgeless troops of the _Soldatenrat_.[23] In the camp I found the boys all merry and bright. The signing of the Armistice was daily expected. Repatriation by Christmas was conceived possible. I gathered all the news I could from the English chaps in the baths. A new regime had come in the camp. All the officers and all the most notorious of the old bullies had fled, leaving the _Soldatenrat_ in control. “They found ‘Mad Alek,’” he announced. “Found him?” I asked puzzled. “Yes, he beat it, you know. Disappeared when they heard Bulgaria had chucked it--took most of the garrison funds with him. They found him last week in a forest near the Danish frontier. He’d hung himself.” I returned to my farm, resolved to submit to no more restrictions, if indeed to work at all. I could not help taunting my sentry and all my favorite enemies in the village (who had so long jeered at me) over Germany’s debacle. They had always regarded me as a “Smart Alek” and now I exasperated them delightfully. My relations with the sentry reached a climax one evening when he found me reading a newspaper by candle-light in the barn. “_Das ist verboten!_” he commanded.