a speck for an instant, then disappeared.
Schwarz went stealthily into the house and tip-toed up the stairs. If she had not been on the alert she would not have known he was moving about. Someone else moved softly in the room next to hers, and by and by she saw two dark figures emerge from the shadow of the house and drift off down through the meadow toward the railroad. They carried picks and shovels, and one of them was Schwarz. She knew him by his bulky walk. They climbed the fence and were presently out of sight in the thick growth of alders by the creek.
Hilda crept back to bed and covered herself, head and all, with the quilt, shivering and trying to get warm. Her very spirit seemed frozen within her. Her world had gone cold and terrible! To think that men would plot to do such things! But she could not think. Her very thoughts seemed paralyzed. By and by, as the warmth began to creep over her, her senses seemed to return. She realized that it was America, her United States, that was being plotted against. All the days in school when she had spelled out stories of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln; all the holidays and festivals when she had marched in processions, in primary, grammar and high schools; carried flags, scattered flowers, sung songs of liberty, passed in quick review before her; the patriotic compositions and themes she had written, the poems she had recited, seemed crying out together to be heard; and the “Star Spangled Banner,” with its thrilling “Oh, say, can you see!” floated all about her as if all these former evidences of her patriotism had come back in a panic over what was happening and were beseeching her to do something about it. It came to her like a revelation that she was probably the only person in the world who could do anything about it, because she was likely the only loyal one who knew about it. It was a terrible responsibility to be the only one in the world who could save many lives and great properties! And if she should fail! If she should fail! She must not fail! She must do something to save that bridge, and to save those other places. Steel works and shipyards and oil tanks and munition factories were all in danger! If only she blew where they were and the dates! She clasped her hands and prayed earnestly: “Oh, God, please show me what to do.”
She had decided when she first heard that air-man's voice below her window that as soon as they were gone she would make up a small bundle of things, get out of her window and steal away before it was light. But she no longer had any such thought. Things were changed. She had forgotten her own plight. Her country was in peril and she must stay and find away to help. - She hadn't art idea of what she would do yet, but she was very certain she should find a way. All the lethargy of her mind seemed gone. All the weariness and aching of her limbs were forgotten. The days of hard work and sharp words, the nights of tossing on her hard little bed were as if they had not been. She felt young and strong and alive. She was not afraid. Something dearer and bigger than herself was at stake. She was living in a house with spies; very well, she would be a spy, too! She would be an American spy!
She slipped softly from her bed and began to dress rapidly. She had no definite idea of what she was going to do yet, but the first thing was to be ready.
When she was dressed she took the little red scarf and pinned it to the window sill over her towel, where it would show bright against the white. It was ridiculous, of course, but it made her feel more comfortable just to think of it there. He might never see it—what could he do if he did?—for he had his train to take on to the end of the route; but she had set her signal as he told her to if she discovered spies.
As she leaned out of her window to make sure the scarf hung free and smooth she noticed something white on the ground below. The dawn was growing in the east now, and when she looked intently she could see quite distinctly the outline of a bit of white paper. It had not been there the night before; she was sure, for she had been looking out just before she went to bed and thinking how nice it would be if there were some flowers planted down there for her to look at sometimes, and to breathe their fragrance at night. This must be something the air-man dropped. Would it be anything of importance? Might it somehow help her to know what to do?
But how was she to get it? She dared not risk going down after it. Mrs. Schwarz would be sure to hear her. She could hear her up and moving about now in her heavy bare feet in her room across the hall. If Hilda's door should open she would call out at once to know why she was up so early without being called. No, she must not arouse suspicion. Perhaps there would be time after she got down to the kitchen to run around the house and pick up the paper, but not likely after Mrs. Schwarz was down. She would be cross and exacting and the men always swarmed everywhere early in the morning. Besides, someone might miss it by that time and hunt it up. Also she might leave tracks in the dewy grass if she ran around the house. No, there ought to be some way for her to get that paper without going downstairs. What could it be? She measured the distance between the window and the ground, examining the window ledge and the smooth side of the house. There was no possibility of climbing down and up again, for even if she reached the ground without a mishap how could she get up again? She canvassed the possibility of tying her bedclothes together and making a rope by which to descend, trying to pull herself up again, but that was too much of a risk. She might get caught midway and then there was no knowing what they might do to her; but certainly they would see to it that she had no further chance of showing her loyalty to the United States. No, she must not risk climbing down.
Was there anything she could let down, a bent pin or a hat pin thrown down hard enough to make it go through the paper and pull it up? No, it would slip off before she could draw it up. Her open umbrella? Would it be possible to let it down and sweep up the paper?
She cast an anxious glance toward the sky. The glow was spreading in the east and it would soon be light. There was no telling how soon Schwarz and his companion would return across the meadow and an umbrella travelling up and down the side of the house would be a noticeable object. Besides, it might catch and bump and make a noise against the wall. There were open windows all about. Once sound an alarm and all would be lost. If there were only some small object with sticking plaster on it: something to which the paper would adhere! If she only had a bottle of mucilage or glue she might smear it on something and let it down. The paper was almost beneath the window. Why hadn't she brought with her that little tube of photograph paste instead of giving it to her brother? Was there nothing, nothing she could use? Must she let that paper go uninvestigated when it might contain something of great importance to the country?
She got up and went softly about her room in the dim light, feeling of article after article on the small box that constituted her dressing table and her hand came upon her tube of tooth paste. She drew in her breath exultantly. The very thing! Would the paper stick to it? She would try. She would have to put it on something heavy enough to press the stickiness into the paper and make it adhere. Her hair brush? No, the flat side would not drop down easily. She must have something with a flat bottom. Her ink bottle! That would do.
It was some minutes before she could find strings enough to reach from her window to the ground, but by means of tape and bits of ribbon she at last had her strange fish-line ready, firmly fastened around the neck of the bottle, the other end tied to a chair lest some hasty move should cause her to drop it and she have one more article to fish up. Then she smeared the bottom of the ink bottle generously with toothpaste.
It was growing light now. She knelt breathlessly by the window and slowly played out her line, steadying the ink bottle as it went down to keep it from whirling wide and knocking against the house. She was trembling from head to foot when the bottle with a final whirl settled down firmly on the paper.
For a full minute she let it rest there to make the paste stick and then, with heart beating so loud she felt as if the people in the house must hear it she began slowly to pull the line up, hand over hand. There was a tense moment when the bottle lifted from the ground and the paper wavered slightly as if debating whether it would go or stay. Then it rose steadily with the bottle, inch by inch, until it was within her reach and she put her hand out and grasped it.
Carefully she wiped off the toothpaste and eagerly scanned the writing. It was in German, interspersed
