Fortunately he had come down in a field near the house in which he now hid.

He had cautiously come to this house, and as cautiously aroused the inmates, reasoning that they must be French and should befriend him.

This the peasants had cheerfully done.
"I've been hiding here since, and my machine was found, but I wasn't," Tom wound up.
"You see, this room has no windows, and I keep very quiet, and so, perhaps, I could remain here safely a month.

But I won't.
I have plans for escape back to the French lines." At this moment the door opened again.

The old peasant came in with a tray on which was a dish of smoking meat, dark bread and potatoes and a pot of coffee.
"Now, since you are old friends I shall leave you," said the old man smiling, as he patted both young Americans on the shoulder.
"But Monsieur Reade knows how to call me if I am wanted.