But, more than an hour later, they still had no idea what to do. “There’s no other way,” whispered M. Gagnon at last, “but to go ask Father Duprey to offer some idea. He must be taken into the secret.” Marie nodded. The night was dark and rain began to fall. Her father yawned. “I’ll go see Father Duprey tomorrow, first thing,” he said. “Now off to bed with you.” They rose, and stood tensely, startled by a creak on the stairs and soft, padding footsteps outside the door. The door opened and André stood there, clutching his boots and his trumpet. “Heavens, André, you frightened us,” Marie snapped. “We thought you were in bed long ago.” His father asked gruffly, “Where are you going at this hour?” The boy moved nervously. “Papa,” he blurted, “why didn’t you tell me that man was hiding in the attic?” Pierre and his daughter exchanged quick glances. Pierre put a hand protectingly on his son’s shoulder. “We thought it might save trouble if you didn’t know,” he said. “But now it’s done.” “But why shouldn’t I know?” André demanded stubbornly. “He’s the man with the bandage who came in the car a few days ago, isn’t he? I talked to him. And I like him.” “You must be sure not to give us away,” André’s father ordered sternly. “Say nothing about this man to anyone. Do you understand?” André promised, and he laid his trumpet beside the lamp. “I found him up there when I went to the attic to get this. I must bury it outside somewhere before the Nazis come snooping around.” Then he gasped. “But won’t they find Ronald?” His father said, “Your sister and I are looking out for him. Now, about this trumpet...?” The horn _had_ to be hidden before another morning. “I’ll bury it near the fence beside the lane,” André whispered as he edged out into the stormy darkness. An eerie stillness hung heavy on Marie and her father when André had gone. After a few moments Marie whispered nervously, “I don’t think I can sleep until this is settled, Papa. Don’t you think you could slip out and see Father Duprey tonight?” Pierre frowned. “What about this cursed curfew? I do not want to be caught. However, it will not be my first night job for the Underground.” He slipped on his coat, pulled his cap low, and eased himself noiselessly out of the house. Marie sat alone, her eyes on the clock. Her heart jumped a beat when an approaching patrol car whizzed down the road. It passed the house. Again the dark silence. The back door opened and André returned, his boots caked high with mud. When he asked, “Where’s Papa?” she said, “He has gone out. Ask no more questions and go to bed.” “I will wait for Papa,” he replied firmly, and perched on the edge of a chair, studying his sister’s face. He had felt excitement growing among the others in the house. Now it belonged to him, too. They listened for outside noises through the sounds of the storm. André said, “Ronald Pitt’s a fighter pilot, Marie. Did you know that?