Claude squirmed, as he always did when his mother touched upon certain subjects. “Well, you see, I can’t forget that the Germans are praying, too. And I guess they are just naturally more pious than the French.” Taking up the book he began once more: “In the low ground again, at the narrowest part of the great loop of the Marne,” etc.
Claude and his mother had grown familiar with the name of that river, and with the idea of its strategic importance, before it began to stand out in black headlines a few days later.
The fall ploughing had begun as usual. Mr. Wheeler had decided to put in six hundred acres of wheat again. Whatever happened on the other side of the world, they would need bread. He took a third team himself and went into the field every morning to help Dan and Claude. The nei
