“Henri was placed in charge of a soldier, by whose side he trudged along, wiping his eyes frequently, apparently in great distress of mind, as a boy naturally would be in his situation.  Henri’s eyes were red, but they were red from rubbing rather than from the tears they had shed, and were keenly on the alert; they missed nothing of what was going on about them.  He did not know where they proposed to take him, but wherever it was he determined not to go, for the letter in his stomach was a constant reminder of what was expected of him.

“There was much activity about them; it was a busy scene, and Henri’s guard was plainly interested in it—­he was becoming more interested in the activity than he was in his prisoner, which fact did not escape the lad, who appeared to be so filled with despair.

“Soldier and prisoner finally came to the bank of a canal, along which they walked, the soldier still watching the movements of the troops.  Now Henri saw his opportunity.

“All at once he sprang away from his guard, and, taking a long leap, plunged head first into the canal.  He dove deep and shot himself half way across before coming to the surface.

“The soldier guard stood stupefied for a moment.  Recovering his wits, he began to shoot at the bobbing head of Henri that was now out of the water then under it.

“Henri, by this time, was rapidly nearing the opposite bank of the canal, taking little heed of the bullets that were splashing all about him.

“‘It is good luck to be little,’ he chuckled as he scrambled up the bank and dashed into the bushes.  Bullets were singing all about him now, showing that several soldiers had joined in the shooting, but the plucky boy was not hit, though there were bullet holes in his jacket and two through his cap.

“‘Good bye, Mr. Boche,’ he called back.  ’Henri thanks you that you did not hit him in the place where he carries his orders.’  He then ran swiftly over the remaining few miles that lay between him and his destination.  Reaching the French lines safely, he was led to the commander of the detachment in his home village.

“‘I have orders for you, sir,’ he said, saluting the commander.

“‘Very good.  Where are they?’

“‘In my stomach, sir.’

“The officer was puzzled for the moment, then he began to laugh.  Henri related the circumstances that had made necessary the destruction of the letter, and at his dictation the commander wrote down the orders, which the lad repeated to him exactly as they had been written in the letter.  Henri’s mission had been faithfully carried out.

“‘France has need of such as you,’ said the commander approvingly.  ‘What shall you do now?’

“’I must return to my troops and make my report to my commanding officer,’ was the simple reply.  ’I shall wait for the night before starting, for the Boches this time cannot be so easily fooled.  Remember, I still have the orders in my stomach.  Would it not be sad if the Boches discovered them and took them from me?’ Henri grinned and the commander laughed heartily.