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Page 66
"Well, Marne, my lad, here's your home, beyond a doubt," said John. But
no answer came to the neigh. The house remained silent and dark. It
confirmed John's first belief that the horse belonged to some peasant
who had fled with his family from the armies. He stroked the animal's
neck, and felt real pity for him, as if he had been a child abandoned.
"I know that while I'm a friend I'm almost a stranger to you, but come,
we'll examine things," he said.
He sprang off the horse, and drew his automatic. The possession of the
pistol gave him an immense amount of courage and confidence, but he did
not anticipate any trouble at the house as he was sure that it was
abandoned.
He pushed open the door and saw a dark inside. Staring a little he made
out a plainly furnished room, from which all the lighter articles had
been taken. There was a hearth, but with no fire on it, and John decided
that he would sleep in the house. It was in a lonely place, but he would
take the risk.
The horse had already gone to the stable and was pushing the door with
his nose. John let him in, and found some oat straw which he gave him.
Then he left him munching in content, and as he departed he struck him a
resounding blow of friendliness on the flank.
"Good old Marne," he said, "you're certainly one of the best friends
I've found in Europe. In fact, you're about the only living being I've
associated with that doesn't want to kill somebody."
He entered the house and closed the door. In addition to the
sitting-room there was a bedroom and a kitchen, all bearing the signs of
recent occupancy. He found a small petroleum lamp, but he concluded not
to light it. Instead he sat on a wooden bench in the main room beside a
small window, ate a little more from the knapsack, and watched a while
lest friend or enemy should come.
It had grown somewhat darker and the clouds were driving across the sky.
The wind was rising and the threatened flurries of rain came, beating
against the cottage. John was devoutly glad that he had found the little
house. Having spent many hours immersed to his neck in a river he felt
that he had had enough water for one day. Moreover, his escape, his snug
shelter and the abundance of food at hand, gave him an extraordinary
sense of ease and rest. He noticed that in the darkness and rain one
might pass within fifty feet of the cottage without seeing it.
The wind increased and moaned among the oaks that grew around the house,
but above the moaning the sounds of battle, the distant thunder of the
artillery yet came. The sport of kings was going merrily on. Neither
night nor storm stopped it and men were still being ground by thousands
into cannon food. But John had now a feeling of detachment. Three days
of continuous battle had dulled his senses. They might fight on as they
pleased. It did not concern him, for tonight at least. He was going to
look out for himself.
He fastened the door securely, but, as he left the window open,
currents of fresh cool air poured into the room. He was now fully
revived in both mind and body, and he took present ease and comfort,
thinking but little of the future. The flurries of rain melted into a
steady pour. The cold deepened, and as he wrapped the two blankets
around him his sense of comfort increased. Lightning flared at
infrequent intervals and now and then real thunder mingled with that of
the artillery.
He felt that he might have been back at home. It was like some snug
little place in the high hills of Pennsylvania or New York. Like many
other Americans, he often felt surprise that Europe should be so much
like America. The trees and the grass and the rivers were just the same.
Nothing was different but the ancient buildings. He knew now that
history and a long literature merely created the illusion of difference.
He wondered why the artillery fire did not die, with the wind sweeping
such gusts of rain before it. Then he remembered that the sound of so
many great cannon could travel a long distance, and there might be no
rain at the points from which the firing came. The cottage might stand
in a long narrow valley up which the clouds would travel.
Not feeling sleepy yet he decided to have another look about the house.
A search revealed a small box of matches near the lamp on the shelf.
Then he closed the window in order to shut in the flame, and, lighting
the lamp, pursued his investigation.
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