I was sure the leader was mistaken for in the next instant there came only three clicks against the surface of the table. But I held my own counsel and looked on while the archers, one at each opening, raised their bows and watched for a mark among the men in the woods across the road. They shot at the same time. The arrows had scarcely left the bows when another yell louder than the first came over to us. The leader lowered his bow in disgust. “He got back too quickly,” he said. “Our only hope is to wait.” There was another lull. For a long time we stood with our hearts thumping hard against our ribs. I listened for footsteps outside the kitchen door, but the whole place, even the road and the tree opposite were as silent as an empty church. Then came a single arrow. It was not shot in a line but in a slow arching curve. It passed through the opening and landed sticking in the wood in the floor. Around the haft was tied a piece of white cloth. I jumped towards it and raised it in my hand. “A signal!” I cried. The leader flashed his eyes on me. “It’s a trick,” he answered. “Back! And watch your door!” But it soon proved that I was right. Within a few minutes another piece of white cloth larger than the first fluttered among the trees. Regardless of the leader’s warning I walked to the middle of the floor. The old landlord came into view tottering and filled with fear. His jaw was twisting like a leaf spinning in the wind. He put one foot forward and then half turned as though he would draw back. When he got half across the road, he broke into a shifting run. “A truce!” he cried holding the white cloth before him. “What would you have?” asked the leader from behind the table. “You’ve killed two of them already,” said the landlord. “They want to let you know that there’ll be a score of their comrades here within the hour.” He hesitated. The old crafty smile broke over his face. “If you give in, they’ll do you no hurt but send you back to Normandy where you belong.” “Is that all?” demanded the leader. “I’ve come to save my house,” was the next move. “Well?” “You see,” went on the old man, “if you don’t give in, they’ll burn it down about your ears.” “Oh, ho!” replied the leader with a short laugh. “So that’s the tune now, is it? Well. Let them.” Here he held out his bow before the old man’s eyes. “Do you see this?” he demanded. “This bow has drawn the heart’s blood of half a hundred of their countrymen. It’s still athirst for more. Go back and ask them if they are willing to be the next.” The landlord stood twisting the white rag between his skinny hands. He looked up sharply and saw me peering eagerly over the leader’s shoulder. “That lad has eaten of my food,” he said with the old wheezing whistle in his voice. “I have treated him like a father. And he has brought all this trouble on me,—I’ll remember this when the time comes to settle our accounts.”