“Oh! something is always cropping up to nip our plans in the bud, it seems like,” Pudge groaned, on hearing Frank make that unpleasant statement.

“Are you sure they’re Germans, Frank?” demanded Billy.

“I couldn’t tell from the glimpses I had of them,” answered the other; “only they have guns, and are in uniform.”

“Of course, I had to go and leave the field glasses hanging in the case with the seaplane,” Billy declared. “M’sieu, would you mind letting me look through those binoculars you have along with you?”

Of course, the obliging Frenchman immediately complied with this request, and as Billy focused the glasses on the trees ahead the others held their breath while waiting to hear the verdict.

“There, I can see figures, all right,” said the observer, “and they’re watching this way in the bargain. Frank, it’s all right, I tell you!”

“Then they’re British soldiers?” asked the other, with a note of relief in his voice.

“Just what they are,” replied Billy. “They must have seen the plane falling back here, and have come to find out whether anyone was hurt. Then those shots over at the old windmill made them hold up, and right now they don’t know what to think. Hadn’t you better signal them, Frank?”

“Right away, Billy.”

Accordingly Frank elevated his handkerchief, and waved it until he received a reassuring signal from someone amidst the trees. After that the little party rose and advanced, Frank advising them to hold up their hands so as to convince the soldiers they had no possible hostile intent.

It was with a feeling of great relief that they found themselves face to face with a British captain, who surveyed them curiously.

“You came down in that big aëroplane with the boat underneath it?” was the first thing he asked.

“Yes, and we count ourselves pretty lucky not to have dropped inside the German lines in the bargain,” Frank told him. “You see, sir, we are three American boys. My name is Frank Chester, this is Billy Barnes, a newspaper reporter, and Pudge Perkins is the third member of our party. As for this gentleman, you must surely have heard of the well-known French aviator, M. Armand Le Grande.”

“And I am Captain Charles Marsden, of the Sussex Regiment,” replied the officer, cordially shaking hands. “Most assuredly, I have often heard of M. Le Grande, and once saw him play a daring trick on three German Taube pilots. But what manner of strange craft was it passed over our lines, and where have you come from?”

“First of all,” said Frank, “I had better explain what brought the three of us over here in France when we had better be safe at home in America. The father of Pudge here is an aviator and an inventor. He has constructed a wonderful seaplane designed to save human life in case of accidents at sea. A sample was sent over to the French Government at their request before the war broke out, but had never been taken from the cases. So, on their invitation, we came across to assemble the parts, and prove the great value of the new type of machine.”

“All this is very interesting to me, my young friend,” ventured the officer; “so please go on with your explanations.”

“We have a contract whereby the French Government can acquire this great seaplane for cash, and pay a royalty for every one up to fifty that they construct themselves from the sample. That is as far as our neutrality will allow us to go. And M. Le Grande was selected to accompany us on a trial flight to learn in what way our Sea Eagle was superior to the ordinary planes in common use.”

“Oh! then you have just been making that flight,” remarked the officer, “and by mistake managed to cross the lines, so that you came near falling into the hands of the enemy?”

Frank smiled, and even Pudge gave a disdainful snort.

“Well, although you have not heard the news yet, Captain Marsden, this has been a glorious day for your countrymen,” Frank told him. “This morning some thirty-four seaplanes started up the coast, nearly every one of them manned by British aviators, and made a most desperate raid on the submarine bases around Zeebrugge, as well as bombarded railway stations, destroyed oil tanks, and even exploded a magazine, giving the enemy a grand scare, and doing much damage.”

How the officer’s rosy face broadened in a smile when he heard that! The way in which the Kaiser had spoken of them in the beginning of the war as “that contemptible little British army,” would never be forgotten or forgiven; and everyone who wore the king’s khaki was resolved in his mind to do all in his power to make the Emperor change his opinion before quitting time.

“But how do you know about this grand event?” he demanded.

“We accompanied the raiders, and witnessed pretty much all that was done,” Frank told him. “After the fleet of aircraft had turned homeward again we started across country to take a look at Lille, and see what you people were up to over in this region. We also meant that M’sieu should have the worth of his money and learn all the big airship could do.”

“Wonderful, and you so young at that!” exclaimed the soldier; “but then I understand American boys are equal to such things. But what happened to send you down as though you were a bird with a crippled wing?”

“A stray shot must have punctured our petrol tank and allowed the fuel to drain out, for we suddenly discovered we had none. Only through great luck were we able to push ahead, and escape falling back of the German lines.”

“That would have been a misfortune in several ways, I take it,” said the officer.

“Just after we fell, and were trying to see if any of us had been hurt, we were fired on from the old windmill base, and it was only by crawling along a depression that we finally managed to escape.”

“So that was where those shots came from?” cried Captain Marsden. “We wondered if they had any connection with the dropping of the aëroplane. What do you wish us to do for you, boys?”

“Excuse me,” Frank remarked, “but hearing you say you belonged to a Sussex regiment made me remember that a very good friend of ours, in Dunkirk just at present, Major Nixon, also came from that part of England.”

“What, Tom Nixon!” exclaimed the soldier, his face lighting up again; “one of my best friends, and with whom I’ve followed the hounds dozens of times after the fox. If you are comrades of his, I would esteem it a privilege to help you out in any way possible.”

“The chief concern we have,” Frank told him, “is that we must manage in some way to get our machine, after we’ve taken it to pieces, transported back to the hangar at Dunkirk.”

“But suppose we could supply you with sufficient petrol to take you there; would that help you out, or is the machine wrecked too badly?”

“It is injured somewhat,” Frank continued, “though we might manage to repair that part of it; but unfortunately it is next to impossible for a seaplane to rise anywhere but from the water. That is on account of the boat part of the structure, you understand, sir. Could you manage to secure us a motor truck to transport ourselves and the machine across country by road? It would be doing the French Government one of the greatest favors possible; ask M’sieu here if that is not so.”

“Indeed, there could not be a greater favor,” the Frenchman declared warmly. “I have seen to-day that which may help to bring this terrible war to a much speedier close if only we can put fifty of those wonderful American machines in the field.”

“Say no more, for I shall see to it that the motor truck is placed at your service,” said the captain heartily.

“But how about the windmill, Captain?” asked Frank, “and the Germans who occupy it as a fort; will you attack them and capture the place? It commands the spot where the stranded seaplane lies, and I’m afraid we can do but little unless the danger is laid.”

“We will go back the way you came,” decided the soldier. “I will have my men accompany us, and when we reach a convenient place a rush should take the mill.”

“I’ll go along with you then, Captain,” assented Frank.

“Same here,” added Billy; but Pudge shook his head sadly, and reaching down felt tenderly of his knees, as he remarked:

“You’ll have to excuse me this time, fellows; I must beg off. After it’s all over give me a whoop, and I’ll walk to where you are. Crawling doesn’t seem to be my special forte, I’m sorry to say.”

“That’s all right, Pudge, stay here until we give you the signal that the coast is clear,” Billy told him.

Orders being given to the soldiers, the entire lot started toward where the dip began. A few minutes later they were making their way along on hands and knees, and appearing to the observant Pudge very much like a trailing snake.

There was not a single shot fired at them as they crept on, and in the end they found themselves at the spot where the big seaplane lay.

As they could go forward no further in that way, orders were given for a charge, and the two boys, still crouching there, were thrilled to see the dozen men in khaki start across the open ground on the run, each one dodging as he saw best in order to take as little chances of being hit as possible.

“Why, look at that, Frank!” cried Billy. “Not a single shot has been fired at them! What do you think the Germans are up to? Are they waiting to mow them down in a heap? Hey, isn’t that a white flag waving from the old mill? Why, honest, now, I do believe they mean to throw up the sponge, and surrender. Let’s start forward ourselves, Frank.”

“Wait and see,” cautioned the other. “After the soldiers have gone inside will be time enough for us to hurry up.”

“Well, there they go right now, Frank!” cried the other. “Please come on, for I’m dying to know what it all means. It isn’t like Germans to give up that way without a hard fight.”

When they arrived at the windmill the mystery was soon explained. The terrible garrison consisted of just a single old man, and he was not a German at all, but a French peasant who had lost all he possessed when the Kaiser’s army went through this part of France earlier in the war. His mind had given way under the strain, and filled with the idea that his old mill was a fort he had stationed himself in it with his gun, ready to repel the invaders of the sacred French soil.

When the strange seaplane fell he had conceived the idea that it was some sort of monster which he ought to slay, and so he had taken several pot-shots at the great drab wings which he could just see from his lookout.

Luckily, however, the old peasant, crazy though he might be, knew British soldiers’ uniforms, for the Tommies had been very good to him during the month they were in the neighborhood pushing the enemy back. So he had put up that white flag as soon as he recognized the khaki uniforms of those who were advancing on the run.

“Shucks!” Billy was heard to say. “That’s the way things sometimes drop from the sublime to the ridiculous. Here we were picturing a squad of desperate Prussians cooped up in this windmill base ready to sell their lives dearly, and it proves to be a silly old peasant who is out of his mind.”

“Well, it’s a tragedy, just the same,” Frank told him. “Think of what this Jean Bart has suffered, seeing all his possessions destroyed, and perhaps his entire family wiped out. The Captain tells me there was some trouble with the natives here when the German army went through, and some reckless shooting. But now we can get busy on the seaplane. Call our chum Pudge, will you, Billy?”

The work of taking the seaplane to pieces was going to take them some little time. Meanwhile Captain Marsden, who left several of his men at the spot with orders to assist where it was possible, went back to headquarters to state the case and see what could be done toward getting them a motor truck.

As these vehicles were carrying loads to the front, and usually went back empty, save when they took some of the wounded to the hospitals, it did not prove a very difficult thing to commandeer such a van, once permission had been obtained from the general.

Along about three in the afternoon of that February day, they saw a big motor truck coming. It seemed capable of passing over the fields as well as the road, for at the time the ground was pretty well frozen.

Everything seemed favorable, and the work of loading the seaplane was commenced with a vim. Before they got off, Captain Marsden again made his appearance, accompanied by a higher officer, who turned out to be the general in charge of that part of the British line, though the boys were not told his name.

He had been so deeply impressed with the remarkable story told by the captain that he had taken the trouble to come out there himself to meet the bold American boys who had that day witnessed the aërial bombardment of the German naval bases along the Belgian coast.

While the loading was being finished, at his urgent request, Frank entered into a brief description of what they had seen the fleet of seaplanes accomplish. His stirring account must have greatly pleased and heartened the general, for he insisted on shaking hands with Frank on leaving, an honor few dignified British officers would be likely to bestow upon boys from another land.

“I hope we’re going to ride along with the machine, Frank?” remarked Pudge, when the last knot had been tied in the ropes that held the packed seaplane on the van.

“I don’t know what you’re meaning to do, Pudge,” Billy told him. “I’ve got my seat all picked out.”

“Better get up, for we’re going to start,” warned Frank; and so Pudge found a place where he would not be in danger of rolling off. Frank followed suit, Le Grande also got aboard, and then the big motor truck started for the nearest road.

Captain Marsden, having waved them a farewell, was heard shouting after them:

“Give my best regards to Tom Nixon, and tell him we’ll follow the hounds again after this little unpleasantness is over. Good-by, and good luck to you!”