Taking a hasty look all around, the two boys quickly discovered several things that held their interest. “Amos,” said Jack, gravely, “you were wondering what had become of the Germans who defended this place against all opposition. If you will look down there where that willow tree grows alongside the brook you’ll understand.” “Fresh-made graves, sure enough, Jack!” exclaimed the other, with a quick intake of his breath. “Like as not they held out till the last man went under. And some of their comrades passing this way stopped long enough to cover the brave fellows with two feet of earth. That’s about all a soldier can expect these days.” “I can guess what’s in your mind when you sigh that way, Amos. You’re wondering whether your brother Tom is still alive, or has found a grave like hundreds of thousands of others in this terrible war.” “We’ve reason to believe he changed his name and joined the British forces, not caring much whether he survived or perished,” said Amos, with a look of pain on his young face. “You know he always was a reckless fellow. He is nearly ten years older than I. Father was very strict, and couldn’t understand that high-spirited Tom was one of those who could be led, but never driven. Then came that awful accusation--oh! it makes me shiver to think of that time.” “Your father accused Tom of taking his pocketbook from a drawer of his desk, and everything seemed to point to him as the thief. You say Tom denied being guilty but was too proud to say anything more. And so he was driven from home, and has never been seen since that time--is that it, Amos?” “Yes, though I’ve had a few lines from him about once in six months,” replied the other boy, slowly. “First he went to California; then I heard from him in Japan; and the last time it was in England, where he said he had enlisted under another name, and meant to fight for the Allies, not caring much what happened.” “Did your father ever know you had heard from him?” asked Jack, as he continued to use his eyes to advantage, and examine the surrounding country from the elevated lookout. “I didn’t dare show him the postcards that came to me,” replied Amos. “He is such a stern martinet, you know, or rather was up to a month ago, when that queer thing happened. Father made a name for himself as a soldier during the Spanish war. He had told me to consider that my brother was dead, and so I was afraid to tell him about those cards. If our mother had only lived all this terrible trouble would never have happened, for she knew how to handle high-spirited Tom.” “Tell me again about that day the discovery was made, Amos; of course I’ve heard the story, but I’d like to get it all fresh in my mind.”