"Fortunately the river was not wide at this point, and on the opposite
side was plenty of cover in the way of trees and bushes. But discovery
came at about the time he reached the middle of the river. The sun,
reflected from his bright metal helmet, had attracted the attention of
the soldiers. A bullet splashed in the water to the right of him.

"'Huh!' he grunted. 'The Boches cannot shoot. Francois could shoot as
good as that with his eyes shut. Bah! Shoot again.' O-u-c-h! A bullet
had gone through the helmet, so low that it raked the top of his head.
It felt like a red-hot iron being drawn across the top of his head,
and made his head swim dizzily.

"'It was a chance shot,' observed the boy. 'No Boche could shoot so
true on purpose. I shall yet fool them.'

"Reaching the opposite shore he ran up the bank, not trying to conceal
himself there. A bullet struck him in the shoulder, spun him around
and laid him flat on the ground. He was on his feet almost instantly,
shaking a fist at the Germans.

"'Shoot! I fear not your bullets,' he shouted. The boy then ran
skulking from shrub to shrub until he reached the forest, into which
he dashed. Both wounds were by now bleeding freely and his face was
covered with blood from the scalp wound. He dashed on, not wholly
certain of his direction, but, reaching the other side of the forest,
found himself not far out of his way. From then on he trotted, keeping
himself up by sheer pluck, for he was getting weak.

"Francois saw nothing more of the enemy, and finally he staggered into
his village. A sentry, recognizing the German helmet, halted him some