“Two heavy containers filled with hot coffee, suspended from a yoke that fitted over the shoulders, were placed on the lad.  The soldiers expected to see him collapse under the heavy load, but Remi stood up very straight and awaited the command to go forward.  He was stronger than they thought he was.  The journey through the dark trenches was a long one, made thrilling by the Germans, who were trying to drop shells into them as the food was coming up to the front line.  The ‘chow’ carriers, however, arrived safely at Company C’s station and Remi had every drop of coffee that he had started out with.

“‘Well, here I am,’ he announced loudly.  ’Remi wants a gun, he wants it right away, and then he wants to see a Boche.’

“’You’ll see him sooner than you expect if you don’t lower your voice,’ rebuked a soldier.

“At that moment a star-shell shot high up into the air and, bursting, flooded the space between the French and German lines with a brilliant light.  Remi peered over the top of the parapet and across the ’No Man’s Land’ of which he had so often heard, over its barbed-wire entanglements and on to the parapets of the German trenches.

“‘Why do they do that?’ he questioned.

“’To see if any of our patrols are out there nosing about.  You see, we send out night patrols to find out what the enemy is doing,’ he was told.

“‘I, too, shall be a night patrol,’ declared the lad confidently.

“Unmindful of the desperate chance he was taking, Remi, watching his opportunity, slipped over the top of the French trench and began crawling toward the enemy lines.  He did not know where the openings in the wire entanglements were located, but, being small, he was able to crawl under.  Now and then he saw other figures slinking about out there, but he took good care that they should not see him, and, when another star shell was fired, he flattened himself on the ground, face downward, and thus avoided detection.  So intent was he, however, in watching for enemy patrols that he actually bumped into the parapet of the German trench before he knew it.  The boy flattened himself on the ground and listened.  He heard low-toned conversation mingled with German snores in the trench, and sniffed contemptuously.  Raising a hand to pull himself up to the top of the sandbags, he struck something sharp.  It was the point of a bayonet.  Remi’s hand crept cautiously along and the lad barely escaped an exclamation, for here, right in his hand, was a German rifle aimed toward his own lines, ready to be fired at his beloved French comrades.

“Cautiously drawing the weapon over the parapet, he caressed it affectionately, then started to crawl back toward his own lines with his precious find.

“‘At last Remi has a rifle, and none shall take it from him,’ he muttered triumphantly.  ‘See what I have!’ he cried after having been challenged and hauled into his own trench.  ’I took it from the thickheads over there.  I—­’ He said no more, for his comrades were hugging him delightedly.  They hurried the child off to the captain of his company, who, after listening to the story, embraced Remi.