“Shall I tell them?” he asked, hoarsely. She nodded her head, and at that he burst out with a torrent of words: “He is our only son, young M’sieu, who has been given a faint heart. Deserting from the brave army of the king, he has come secretly to us to hide. That is our shame, our grief.” CHAPTER XX. AROUSING A COWARD. “Oh! what do you think of that?” Amos was heard to exclaim. He looked as though he could hardly realize he understood the correct meaning of the poor old distracted peasant’s lament. François was standing there with his head bent; his wife still on her knees rocked to and fro with many groanings, as though her heart might be nearly broken. Indeed, it was a strange spectacle for those two American lads, and one that gave them a thrill. They had felt wonderfully shaken when witnessing the rush of Teuton files on the British lines, and watched scores, yes even hundreds of furiously fighting men fall in heaps; but this was entirely different. Now pity filled their boyish hearts. They believed they could fully comprehend the measure of shame that must wring the hearts of this honest couple. They had but one child, and he a young man who should be at the front standing bravely up in defense of his beloved country. Instead of that he had deserted from his regiment, and made his way secretly home, possibly sending his parents word in some way that he was coming in order to have them hide him. Those old people had the right spirit in their hearts. The man, yes, and even the old housewife also, would have been ready and willing to risk and lose their own lives in the great cause of king and country. To discover that their only boy had a “yellow streak” in his nature filled them with shame and bitter regret. They feared that if the truth ever became known they might never again look their friends and neighbors in the face--those devoted patriots on all sides who had made the greatest possible sacrifices. Jack was almost as much shaken with compassion for the couple as Amos gave evidence of being. He put out a hand and seized that of the man, which he insisted on squeezing in his whole-hearted boyish fashion. “I am sorry that we forced you to tell us this, François Bart,” he said, and at the time Amos wondered why his chum spoke so loudly, until presently he remembered that the boy soldier was just beneath that floor, and could possibly overhear every word that was said, as Jack doubtless intended should be the case. “You see, M’sieu,” explained the peasant abjectly, “Jean is our child, and we love him. We could not turn him away from our door, for if seen he might be arrested and shot at ten paces. So we are in great distress of mind. We could let everything we have in this world go, and still smile, but to know that our flesh and blood is a--_coward_. Oh! that is worse than death itself to both of us.” “Then you do not stand back of him in his desertion?” asked Jack.