There have been no improvements there for a hundred years, except that they have electric lighting everywhere, even in the pig-pens.  There were no lights in the streets, though, I noticed, and I saw afterwards that a street light would be a foolish extravagance, for the people go to bed at dark.  They have the real idea of daylight-saving, and do not let any of it escape them.

The guards took us around to the houses, and we created considerable interest, for strangers are a sensation at Rossbach; and, besides, prisoners are cheap laborers, and the thrifty German farmer does not like to miss a bargain.

The little fellows were the first choice, for they looked easier to manage than those of us who were bigger.  Clarke was taken by a woman whose husband was at the front, and who had five of as dirty children as I ever saw at one time.  We asked one little boy his age, which he said was “fuenf,” but we thought he must be older—­no child could get as dirty as that in five years!

I was left until almost the last, and when a pleasant-looking old gentleman appeared upon the scene, I decided I would take a hand in the choosing, so I said, “I’ll go with you.”

I was afraid there might be another large family, all with colds in their heads, like the five which Clarke had drawn, waiting for me, so that prompted me to choose this benevolent-looking old grandfather.

The old man took me home with him to one of the best houses in the village, although there was not much difference between them.  His house was made of plaster which had been whitewashed, and had in it a good-sized kitchen, where the family really lived, and an inner room which contained a large picture of the Royal Family, all in uniform, and very gorgeous uniforms, too.  Even the young daughter had a uniform which looked warlike enough for a Lieutenant-Colonel’s.  There was also a desk in this room, where the father of the family—­for the old man who brought me in was the grandfather—­conducted his business.  He was some sort of a clerk, probably the reeve of the municipality, and did not work on the farm at all.  There was a fine home-made carpet on the floor, but the room was bare and cheerless, with low ceiling, and inclined to be dark.

When we entered the kitchen, the family greeted me cordially, and I sat down to dinner with them.  There were three girls and one brother, who was a soldier and home on leave.

Bromley went to work for a farmer on the other side of the village, but I saw him each night, for we all went back to a large three-storied building, which may once have been a boarding-house, to sleep each night, the guard escorting us solemnly both to and from work each day.  This was a very good arrangement for us, too, for we had to be through work and have our supper over by eight o’clock each night.

After our prison diet, the meals we had here were ample and almost epicurean.  We had soup—­the real thing—­made from meat, with plenty of vegetables; coffee with milk, but no sugar; cheese, homemade but very good; meat, both beef and pork; eggs in abundance; but never any pastry; and lots of potatoes, boiled in their skins, and fried.