“Trying to draw us out,” he muttered.  “Want us to think they have given up the attempt.  Never mind, Mr. German, you are not shrewd enough.”

The defenders waited patiently; and presently the Germans again advanced to the attack, even as Hal and Chester had known they would.

Forward came the Teuton horde in a charge.  From a distance of perhaps 500 yards, they dashed across the open at full speed, apparently bent upon overawing the defenders by the very appearance of such numbers.

But the French did not quail.  The weight of numbers meant nothing to them.  It was not the first time they had stood firmly against overwhelming odds, and there was not a man in the farmhouse who did not fully expect to survive the present battle and be ready to face overwhelming odds again.  Each man knew well enough that before the fighting was over it was ten to one that there would be but a handful of the defenders left, but each man was confident he would be one of that number.

They poured a galling fire into the ranks of the Germans as they advanced to the charge.

The effect of this steady stream of rifle fire, accurate and deadly at such close range, was bound to tell.  In spite of the urging of their officers, the Germans wavered.  The lines behind the first surged forward, however, pushing the men in front closer to the deadly fire of the French.  Those in front pushed back and for a moment there was wild confusion without.

In vain German officers rushed in among the troops, trying to rally them.  It was too late.  The Germans had become demoralized.  A moment and they broke and fled.  It was every man for himself.

The French within the farmhouse raised a wild cheer and poured volley after volley into the fleeing Germans.  Men tumbled right and left.  The German losses in the retreat were greater even than they had been in the advance.

Hal, who had been working like a Trojan, wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead with his shirt sleeve—­the work had become so hot that the lad had removed his coat, though it was still cold without—­and spoke words of encouragement to his men.

“Good work, boys,” he said quietly.  “A few more like that and they will bother us no more.”

Even as he spoke the lad knew that his words meant nothing.  He knew the Germans would not give up until they had captured the farmhouse or had been driven back by the weight of superior numbers, and at that moment it did not appear that reinforcements would arrive.

The troops also knew that Hal’s words meant nothing, but they cheered him anyhow.  They realized that he had spoken as he did merely to encourage them; and they liked the spirit that inspired the words.  They knew that Hal was fully competent of judging the hopelessness of the task ahead of them.

“The captain said to hold them two hours, sir,” said one grizzled old veteran to Hal.  “How long has it been now, sir?”