SPY OR GUIDE?

'I believe this forest goes on to the end of the world!' exclaimed the Colonel of the 18th Hanoverian regiment at the close of an autumn day in the year 1750. 'I was told it was a six hours' journey to Schustadt, but it seems as if we must tramp right across Germany to reach it.'

'I wonder if we have taken a wrong track?' answered the Major, who was riding by his side, whilst behind trudged the men, their white breeches, scarlet coats, and three-cornered hats looking strangely out of place in that dense pine forest.

'We must find out somehow,' said the Colonel, reining up his horse. 'There must be a peasant of some sort in these regions—a wood-cutter or charcoal burner. Call a halt, Wenzler, and let the men scatter in different directions, and tell the first who finds any one capable of acting as guide to bring him straight to me.'

The halt was called, the order given, and the soldiers disappeared amongst the pine trunks, amidst laughter and declarations from each that he would be the first to find a guide. The discovery, however, fell to Schmidt, a young corporal, who had hardly gone a hundred yards into the forest before he came on a lad who was amusing himself by gathering raspberries.

Schmidt was fond of what he called a joke, and laying a rough hand on the lad's shoulder, he said, in a voice purposely very fierce, 'You are my prisoner! I am to bring you to our Colonel, and you will probably be shot as a spy.'

The boy looked up in surprise, and turned pale as he answered: 'I am no spy! I have come out from the town to gather raspberries!'

'I know nothing about raspberries,' answered the man, still enjoying his joke, and taking small heed of the lad's evident terror; 'I must bring you before my Colonel,' and he dragged the terrified boy along the track till he reached the spot where the two officers and some of the soldiers were standing.

'Well, Schmidt; first capture!' said the Colonel, in a pleased tone, for he had not expected him to find any one in so short a time.

'Yes, your honour,' said Schmidt, now releasing the boy, who, placing his hands behind him, now addressed the Colonel in as firm a voice as he could muster.

'Please, Colonel,' he said, 'do not shoot me! I am not a spy—indeed I am not! My name is Fritz Nestor, and I live with my mother in Schustadt.'

The men standing round could not resist smiling at this odd speech, for they knew nothing of Schmidt's 'joke,' and the Colonel, bending down so as to be more of a level with the little fellow, said in a half-puzzled tone:

'You surely cannot think we should shoot you! We are not in an enemy's country, and if we were we do not shoot children. What could have put such a ridiculous idea into your head?'

'He said so,' said the boy, pointing to the corporal, whose very pigtail quivered with fear at being thus brought to his Colonel's notice.

The Colonel straightened himself and looked full at the corporal, who was standing stiffly at his right hand. 'Next time you wish to play a practical joke, corporal,' he said sternly, 'let it be with a man, and not a child! Now, my little fellow,' he said, turning to the boy, 'you may take my word for it that no one will hurt you. Can you show us the right way to Schustadt? I suppose you know it?'

'Oh, yes, sir,' said the boy brightly. 'It is barely a mile away.'

'That is good hearing,' said the Colonel, and the men were quickly recalled, and the march began once more, the boy stepping out bravely in front of the column, much preferring the part of guide to that of a spy.