expose him to view, and to lessen this he kept his head well down, submerging completely at times and swimming under

water.

He had just come up to the surface after one of these prolonged dives, when he was startled by a flash behind him and the crash of a rifle. The bullet did not strike anywhere near him, but Bob immediately ducked again and swam under water until he could no longer hold his breath.

When he came to the surface, he found the opposite shore within a few yards of him. He had crossed the stream, and the shadows of the bank ahead were already shielding him from view!

But his escape from the sentry did not mean he was out of danger. The report of the rifle would, perhaps, summon help and arouse sentries on both sides of the river, so when his feet touched bottom, Bob waded toward the shore with the utmost caution.

Everything was quiet on both sides of the stream, and Bob took fresh courage at his miraculous escape. He began wading faster, and had reached dry ground, when suddenly a German soldier stepped out of the bushes with fixed bayonet.

It was a bitter situation for the boy. After all his efforts, he had run straight into the enemy's hands. He had not been so clever as he thought. The Boches had outwitted him. This thought angered and disgusted Bob, and the hot blood of mortification sprang into his cheeks.

He advanced silently at the command of the sentry, who seemed to be alone on the edge of the stream.

It was not yet day, and the shadows obscured the opposite shore. Bob noted that the bushes were thick all around him, and back of them the big woods sloped up to the bluff. With half a chance he could get into the woods and hide until, another night.

Discovering that his prisoner was a half-grown boy, the German sentry relaxed some of his vigilance. He grinned, and playfully prodded Bob in the ribs with the point of his bayonet. "Where do you go in the dark?" he asked in Ger

man. "Swimming rivers at night is verboten."

Bob made no reply. To all appearances he was too frightened to speak.

"Little river rat, ain't you?" the sentry added. "Very cold bathing at night."

He chuckled at his own words. His rifle came down to the ground, the butt of it resting on the soft earth. He raised a hand to wipe his forehead. Bob noticed that the hand holding the rifle had relaxed. A smart blow would knock it away. Could he do it, and then, before the soldier could recover his fallen weapon escape into the bushes?

The thought had hardly taken possession of the boy's mind before he put it into execution. Taking the soldier entirely by surprise, he swept one hand downward, and with a quick, violent push sent the rifle spinning from its owner. The German made an ineffectual grab for it, missed it, and with an oath began searching for it in the darkness.

But by that time Bob was a dozen feet away, racing for the shelter of the bushes with the speed and agility of a deer. He leaped the first clump of bushes, dodged around the next, and then began an amazing zigzag course through the others. The shot from the rifle, which he knew would come at any moment, had to be guarded against.

When it did come, breaking the stillness of the gray morning, Bob was nowhere near the place where the bullet plowed its way. He was far to the right. With more caution than speed, now, he wormed his way deeper into the thicket, hoping to gain the woods before the German could locate him.

A hundred yards from the edge of the woods he saw a stone building. It looked like the ruins of an old house, and the big trees surrounding it cast deeper shadows over it. Bob decided it might offer a safer hiding-place than the woods.

Looking around, to make sure no eyes were watching, he made a dash for it, crouching low and picking his way carefully. With a sigh of relief, he reached the nearest tree without mishap. He

stood for a moment under it to get his breath and make observations. There was no one in sight.

But if there was no one following him from the woods, he was not so fortunate in other respects. The battered door of the stone house suddenly opened, and Bob, to his dismay and terror, saw a uniformed German soldier standing in the entrance, gazing in the direction of the woods. He made some remark, and was answered by another voice inside.

Bob trembled like a leaf, and crouched close to the big trunk of the tree. Nothing but this friendly shelter stood between him and capture. It seemed to his vivid imagination that his body trembled so that it shook the branches of the tree. He gulped and swallowed, for fear his presence had already been discovered.

Finally, the waiting German muttered something under his breath, and strode out of the house, closing the door behind him. He walked straight for the woods, as if expecting to meet some one.

Bob watched him until he was nearly out of sight.

Now was his time, before the soldier returned. But which way could he go? There was another man in the house, and the first one had a full view of the open fields beyond. He could not cross them or return to the woods without exposing himself. In his quandary, Bob happened

to glance upward. The great spreading branches of the tree behind which he stood were dense with foliage.

"It's my only hope," the boy breathed, as he measured the distance between the ground and the thick branches overhead.

He began climbing the trunk of the tree, working his way upward slowly and cautiously. Any unnecessary shaking of the tree might alarm the soldier inside the house. When he reached the first branch, he stopped to get breath and listen. Evidently he had not been heard.

After that it was comparatively easy for him to climb from branch to branch, and when he reached the protection of the thicker leafage, he gave a sigh of relief. To make his concealment perfect, he climbed still higher, until there was a dense screen of leaves between him and the ground. Directly beneath him was the stone house, part of the roof of which had caved in. Bob could see right through this into the interior.

The second German was sprawled out on a rude bed made of an army blanket spread over a bunch of straw. Apparently he had not yet finished his sleep, for he was snoring rhythmically. Bob could have dropped a stone on his upturned face, and the thought of the sleeper's astonishment at such a surprise amused him so that he smiled in spite of his weariness and fright.

My grandmother once used to tell (Perhaps yours has told you as well?)

That in every home round, Where children are found, Two little bears also should dwell. "Bears?" some one cries; "Oh, dear me! I'm as 'fraid of a bear as can be.

A dog or a cat—

But a bear! none of that!" But, now listen a moment and see.

When Molly on teasing is bent,
Bear with her, and soon she 'll repent.
If angry with Jack,

For-bear; don't talk back. (For that is what grandmother meant.)

Dear little "Bear" and "For-bear"!
Your home with them will you not share?

For quarrels and spite
Will sink out of sight,

If these little bruins are there.

I WAS walking along a beautiful road in France, and that part of France where even the barns and sheds have beautiful tiled roofs of weather-beaten red or grey. And as I walked I wondered for the thousandth time at the wonderful little farms, with cool white farm-houses, so neat and clean, and with the land simply bursting with bountiful crops. Never in the United States had I seen such little farms producing such a heavy mass of vegetation. And yet all those rows of vegetables were in lines so straight and close that one would think they had been laid by an engineer!

I paused before a diminutive farm of this kind, where, in about four acres, many kinds of vegetables were growing thickly, and yet in a remarkably neat array, and I wondered, for such planting and such order would need an immense amount of labor and care-and yet all the

sturdy farmers were away in the army, striving to drive the cruel enemy out of their beautiful France! And yet this farm was surely a man's job-and just then I saw Paul.

Turning to go on my way, I beheld near at hand, and leaning on a strong stick, a fine-looking, golden-haired lad of thirteen, with square shoulders and a look of wiry strength. He was looking at me seriously from a pair of frank blue eyes. He took a step or two, and I saw that he limped a little, bearing his weight on his stick.

"Are you from the army?" I asked, without a smile, "and are you home to recover from your wound?"

He half thought I meant it, and held his head proudly. Then his serious face flashed into a broad grin!

"No, M'sieu', not a soldier, and not from the army!" said he.

"But your wounded leg!" I exclaimed, pointing at it accusingly.

And then, little by little, with diplomatic urgings and encouragement, I managed to get this story from him. Certainly he was a soldier of France-only he did n't realize it!

The enemy had killed his father last winter. And of a truth I had seen over the neat barn door, on a little wooden sign, these words painted:

PAUL DESMOND

"Paul Desmond

-tué par.
l'ennemi"

that is to say, "Paul Desmond -killed by the the

enemy!" And it had seemed very pathetic to me to read over the door of the barn the name of the brave farmer who had gone away and had given his life so that the free nations of the world might yet remain free! So little Paul was left, and his mother, who was not very strong, and his little sister-a regular rosebud of a small girl, all smiles, dimples, and rosy cheeks, as I found. But farms must not cease to grow all they can, even though the farmer had gone away! Therefore Paul-little Paul, that is-did it himself, with what labor I could well imagine, especially in the spring, planting so carefully and thickly, and perhaps replanting early vegetables from boxes into the beds. And then the constant weeding, and, no doubt, the watering during dry spells! I dare say there were many, many nights when a small back ached from the constant bending over! But Paul was no weakling, and his thin shirt and loose yellowwhite trousers did not disguise a very

wiry and sturdy frame! But it was all very amazing, such a fine farm and such a small boy!

"But your leg!" I insisted, "what has happened to it?"

Well, it seemed that a neighbor, a very good woman, was getting in some hay, and of course he went to help, and fell off the hay-rick, and almost broke his leg. And what good fortune it was that everything was planted and up and the weeds cleared out! And what good fortune he had still a week or two before some of his vegetables would be ripe! It was wonderful good fortune that he had almost but not quite!-broken his leg at just the right time, and that he would be able to look after his vegetables and to take what the good little mother did not need and sell it to the American soldiers!

Indeed, to hear him talk, you would have thought that getting a very bad sprain and very painful injury was a piece of good fortune instead of bad.

"And what," I asked, "do you think of the American soldiers?"

He grinned and wagged his head from side to side.

"Les soldats americanes?" said he; "truly, they are very big, and very brave, and very, very funny!"

Meanwhile, he had hobbled to his gate, and there the little rosebud of a barefoot sister met him, and they stood, hand in hand, smiling at me in a most friendly fashion.

"I asked if you were a soldier of France," said I to him, "and you said 'no.' But, surely, when a boy, a boy of thirteen, plants and grows such a beautiful little farm when all the world is so hungry-well, that is being a soldier, and so, little brother, I salute you!"

So I gave him a salute, American fashion, and he stiffened up, proud and pleased, and in return gave me a salute, French fashion, beaming with pleasure.

And after I had passed far down the road, I looked back and saw him salute me once more-a mighty fine, sturdy little soldier of France!

PROGRESS AT PARIS WHEN the Preliminary Peace Congress decided to make the League of Nations its first business, to be completed before taking up the Peace Treaty, it effected a revolution in international relations. If the treaty had been put ahead of everything else, there would have been wrangling for the prizes of influence and possessions and then and there the seeds of a later and still more terrible war would have been planted.

The plan adopted was thought to be the wisest possible. With Germany defeated and disarmed, the Allies were able to work not merely for immediate peace, but for the prevention of future wars.

Representatives of Greece, Italy, the Czecho-Slovaks, and other nations, old and new, laid their claims before the Supreme Council. The newly liberated small nations were told that the association of the Great Powers would enforce peace among them, if necessary, and that those which made the least trouble would gain the best terms in the final settlement. Five new states were planned: Czecho-Slovakia, Poland, Jugo-Slavia, Greater Rumania, and Greater Greece.

It was decided that there should be no international standing army and navy, but that the nations would support each other with their military and financial resources, and by means of commercial alliances, against any nation that might attempt such a campaign of aggression as led to the destruction of the German Empire.

After receiving from President Wilson's

A Review of Current Events

By EDWARD N. TEALL