“MY DEAR boy!” Father Duprey held out his arms.

André cleared the space to the parsonage steps as though shot from the jeep.

“Did my mother come—my father—Marie?” he cried.

He looked up at the priest’s long, bony face, lined with weariness, and halted. The old man’s embrace was kind, but André knew at once that the news he brought was not good. His expression held too much sadness.

“The father needs rest,” someone in the crowd of neighbors called out. And Anna, the parsonage housekeeper, bustled from the door.

“Come in, come in, André,” she called anxiously. “And bring in the father. I will give you tea. And then you may talk.”

“My dear boy!” Father Duprey held out his arms

“I must tell you, André,” Father Duprey said, “my news of your family is not too bad. So do not be anxious. However, I do not know where all of them are now. But come into the house.”

After tea was served, the old man sighed deeply. “Now, André,” he said, “to relieve your anxiety as well as I can.

“To begin. The hospital where we left your mother is small. And it is well outside the town of St. Sauveur le Vicomte—in the country, really. The doctors there are good. Your father, Marie, and I waited for some time to get a report from them about your mother.

“At about ten-thirty o’clock, Monday night—that was June 5th—one of the doctors came to tell us that Mme. Gagnon needed only the right medicine and a week or two to get well. That is good news, eh?”

André sighed. “Yes, very good.”

“Ah! another thing.” The priest held up a thin finger. “The Maquis met us exactly on time, at the rendezvous not far from the hospital. And your brave English flyer—Ronald Pitt—ran for it. What a sight! Two of the roughest looking of our Maquis and a nun, racing toward a near-by building. But—well, they got away safely. That was good, no?”

“Wonderful,” André murmured.

“Well, then. At about eleven-thirty that night, your father and I stood at the hospital door. We were to start back home, and Marie was to stay with your mother. We heard bombing all around us. Your father said, ‘The bombing is getting bad.’

“Just as he said that, we heard loud shouting in German, and Nazis began pouring out of their camp onto the roads.

“A minute later there was the sound of motorcycles and cars shrieking in the streets, and heavy antiaircraft fire.

“Someone cried out, ‘The Invasion has begun! Parachutists are landing all around Ste. Mère!’

“Your father felt that his duty was to remain with Mme. Gagnon. I, that my duty was to hasten home. And I promised to look after you, André.”

The old man smiled wryly. “I did not have much chance to do that, did I?

“In the midst of it, Marie appeared. She was with Leon Duplis, a Maquis I know well.

“She said, ‘Father, the Maquis here need women to help with the villagers. Please do not forbid me to go. In the hospital, Mother is in good hands.’

“Your father agreed, but not willingly. In another minute Marie and Leon were on a motorcycle and out of sight.”

“But how did you get home, father? It has been five days,” asked André.

The priest replied, “It was necessary to follow the loneliest roads through the confusion. One did not know where the shells or the snipers’ bullets would strike.

“I slept well enough under hedges,” the priest continued. “I was very kindly given food by many villagers. Sometimes I took refuge in a church or house. At times I was able to help with the wounded and ill. And sometimes I stopped to comfort the children.”

Father Duprey rose and put a kindly hand on André’s shoulder. “I am glad that you were spared, son. Go home now, and do not worry. Even about Marie. The Gagnons are a family that for two hundred years has not been easily crushed.”

André went slowly down the parsonage steps.... On the first night of the invasion his parents had been safe. But that was four days ago, he thought.

A loud shout stopped him. Streukoff beckoned from the jeep. “Hey, kid! Say, I gotta deliver you and get a receipt from Captain Dobie. Git in.”

André looked shocked. “The general was joking, wasn’t he? I can walk the short distance home. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I needed the rest,” grinned Streukoff. “But I’m getting that receipt, boy. A general never forgets.”

Captain Dobie looked up from his desk irritably when Streukoff entered the room and saluted. André followed well in the rear.

“Yes?” Dobie snapped.

After hearing the general’s request, he barked, “You want what? You brought André home? From where!”

At one side, Weller muttered, “I should ’a’ known better. I should ’a’ known better.”

The captain scribbled out a receipt for Streukoff and signed it. He then registered his feelings by banging weights down on all the papers on his desk.

“I never even missed him,” he said through closed lips.

The telephone jangled, and André saw Weller turn to Captain Dobie excitedly.

“It’s the colonel,” Weller shouted. “We’re movin’ this command post up to the other side of Ste. Mère! The 9th division is almost set to help us on a big push.”

Weller turned his eyes slowly on André.