There were two girls on the place, Miga, the farmer’s daughter, and Erna, the milkmaid. The latter, a big, muscular, typically German peasant girl, took it upon herself to be my special guardian and tutor in the art of agriculture, and came to play no less a part in my life than that of my Woman of Destiny and Chief Tormentor.

Of course, I had told the Unteroffizier[4] that I could farm—for farming was certainly better than mining or munitions making—but, as a matter of fact, beyond the items that horses ate hay and cows gave milk, and a general hazy idea that there was a lot of digging attached to it, I knew nothing about it.

So my tutor had plenty to do—and she did it quite thoroughly. Aside from her formidable physique, she had a tone of command which could but strike awe in a new and unsophisticated Gefangener.

My greenness she found most uproariously funny, and she gave me every opportunity to exhibit it. I was put on all of those delightful tasks which are especially reserved for green-horns, such as chasing the pigs, leading the cows to the village bull, putting the halter on an uncatchable colt in the pasture, or lifting a board which was nailed down.

But I made display of enough of my ignorance without these special inducements. One day I think I made a blunder of quite everything which was given me to do. Besides such minor offences as putting the wrong harness on the horse and tying the cows in the wrong stalls, I spilled a sack of oats, broke a window-pane in the barn and buried a young turkey beneath a fork-full of manure—all in one day! At first Erna scolded sharply, but finding me quite hopeless, she seemed finally to give me up and simply trust to luck that I would leave the house standing and some of the stock alive at the end of this “perfect day.” She did, however, regard me with such a horribly disgusted look that, had I not been so “fed up” and disgusted myself, I would have had grave misgivings for my future.

At all events I was convinced that after the failure I had made of the day’s work, they would not call me in for supper that evening. Indeed, I would fain have gone to rest without that unearned repast. It didn’t matter what I did or what they said, I told myself, they were only Germans, and I wasn’t hungry anyhow. With this intent I was walking shamefacedly through the kitchen to my cell when Erna swept in.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, seizing me by the collar. “Supper!” she roared, as she pulled me into the dining room.

The family had already eaten, so I was left to eat with my tormentor. The table was spread for the first time with a white table-cloth, for they had evidently had guests. She sat down directly opposite me, and only once was the silence broken.

“Don’t soil the table-cloth,” she commanded, pointing threateningly with her fork.

It stirred my blood a bit to think of this creature lecturing me on table-manners.

“I’ve eaten off more white table-cloths than you,” I retorted bravely, fumbling at my fork in defence.

She took this sally with contemptuous silence, which continued, with dark and threatening glances until we finished supper. She finished first. There was a dreadful pause, then she got up and sat down beside me!

I watched her with suspicious alarm. I moved a few inches along the bench and fumbled again at my fork. Then it came—all of a sudden. She threw her arms around me and kissed me!

“You poor little English fool!” she said.