"There's a foot-path," said the peasant, "but it's too narrow for that machine of yours." "Has any one gone that way?" "Only some children." "I'll tackle it," said Horace, remembering the way in which Croquier and he had slipped through all the German armies by keeping away from the roads. Any foot-path, however narrow and stony, was better than encountering the Saxon advance-guard. It was not long before he overtook the children of whom the peasant had spoken. There were three of them, a girl about fourteen years old and two boys of seven and five years old. They shrank into the bushes when they heard the motor-cycle behind. Horace stopped and asked them details of the way. The girl was terror-stricken, but on finding out that Horace was not a German, told him all she knew. "You've been hurt!" the boy said, sympathetically, noticing the boys' arms were bandaged. The girl looked at Horace with a brooding rage and fear in her eyes. "The Germans cut off both their right hands," she said, fiercely. "But they're going to grow again, Marie!" exclaimed the youngest boy, whose face was streaked with tear-stains. "You said so!" The girl looked pleadingly at the young dispatch-rider. He read the look aright, realizing that the girl had tried to soften the blow to the children. So, to help lift the terrible burden of the girl and to ease the pain of the little ones, he answered cheerfully, "Oh, yes, they'll grow again, right enough!" But Horace, as he rode on slowly over the faint footpath, which was shaking his machine to pieces, laid up this cruelty as another item in the long black count against Germany. Thousands of boys in Belgium and in northern France have been deliberately crippled for life, so that, when they grow old enough, they will not be able to carry arms to aid in the revenge which the world will inflict on Germany.[15] Walcourt, as Horace approached it, was evidently the scene of fighting, but an orderly from a Chasseur regiment told him where to find headquarters, and the boy whirled past, south of the village, on another road. In spite of all his adventures, he had been only two hours in the cycle-saddle when he reached his goal. There he had a great deal of difficulty passing the sentries, owing to the lack of a uniform. He was still wearing the woolen shirt that Aunt Abigail had thrown out of the window and the bloodstained clothes in which he had picked up little Jacques Oopsdiel, a week before. Finally he was passed through, though on foot and under guard. Having delivered his dispatch, he saluted, conveying a desire to speak. "Well, sir?" the staff officer asked. "I have other information, sir," said Horace. "It's not official, sir, but it may possibly be of value." "Speak, then." "I'm pretty sure, sir, that there is a whole German Army operating between Von Buelow's force and the Duke of Würtemberg."