He
unrolled the blankets, slipped out of his lair and knew by the height of
the sun that he had slept far beyond the time appointed for himself. But
he did not worry over it. Barring a little stiffness, which he removed
by flexing and tensing his muscles, he felt very strong and capable. The
fresh air pouring into his lungs was so different from the corruption of
the trenches that he seemed to be raised upon wings.
He resumed his walk toward the hills, and ate breakfast from his
knapsack as he went along. Presently he noticed a large aeroplane
circling over his head, and he felt sure that it was observing him. It
was bound to be French or other French machines would attack it, and,
after one glance, he walked slowly on. The machine followed him. He did
not look up again, but he saw a great shadow on the snow that moved with
his.
The knowledge that he was being watched and followed even by one of his
own army was uncomfortable, and he felt a sensation of relief when he
heard a swish and a swoop and the aeroplane alighted on the snow beside
him. The man in the machine stepped out and asked:
"Who are you and where are you going?"
John did not altogether like his manner, which in his own idiom he
styled "fresh."
"I've a name," he replied, "but it's none of your business, and I'm
going somewhere, but that's none of your business either.
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