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To all friends of the brave children of France


Map of the Voyage


THE FRENCH TWINS


by

Lucy Fitch Perkins




CONTENTS

    I. THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE
   II. ON THE WAY HOME
  III. THE COMING OF THE GERMANS
   IV. THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH
    V. AT MADAME COUDERT'S
   VI. THE BURNING OF THE CATHEDRAL
  VII. HOME AGAIN
 VIII. REFUGEES
   IX. THE FOREIGN LEGION
    X. FONTANELLE
   XI. A SURPRISE
  XII. MORNING IN THE MEADOW
 XIII. CHILDREN OF THE LEGION



I. THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE

The sunlight of the clear September afternoon shone across the roofs of
the City of Rheims, and fell in a yellow flood upon the towers of the
most beautiful cathedral in the world, turning them into two shining
golden pillars against the deep blue of the eastern sky.

The streets below were already in shadow, but the sunshine still poured
through the great rose window above the western portal, lighting the
dim interior of the church with long shafts of brilliant reds, blues,
and greens, and falling at last in a shower of broken color upon the
steps of the high altar. Somewhere in the mysterious shadows an unseen
musician touched the keys of the great organ, and the voice of the
Cathedral throbbed through its echoing aisles in tremulous waves of
sound. Above the deep tones of the bass notes a delicate melody
floated, like a lark singing above the surf.

Though the great church seemed empty but for sound and color, there
lingered among its shadows a few persons who loved it well. There were
priests and a few worshipers. There was also Father Varennes, the
Verger, and far away in one of the small chapels opening from the apse
in the eastern end good Mother Meraut was down upon her knees, not
praying as you might suppose, but scrubbing the stone floor. Mother
Meraut was a wise woman; she knew when to pray and when to scrub, and
upon occasion did both with equal energy to the glory of God and the
service of his Church. Today it was her task to make the little chapel
clean and sweet, for was not the Abbe coming to examine the
Confirmation Class in its catechism, and were not her own two children,
Pierre and Pierette, in the class? In time to the heart-beats of the
organ, Mother Meraut swept her brush back and forth, and it was already
near the hour for the class to assemble when at last she set aside her
scrubbing-pail, wiped her hands upon her apron, and began to dust the
chairs which had been standing outside the arched entrance, and to
place them in orderly rows within the chapel.

She had nearly completed her task, when there was a tap-tapping upon
the stone floor, and down the long aisle, leaning upon his crutch, came
Father Varennes. He stopped near the chapel and watched her as she
whisked the last chair into place and then paused with her hands upon
her hips to make a final inspection of her work.

"Bonjour, Antoinette," said the Verger.

Mother Meraut turned her round, cheerful face toward him. "Ah, it is
you, Henri," she cried, "come, no doubt, to see if the chapel is clean
enough for the Abbe! Well, behold."

The Verger peered through the arched opening, and sniffed the wet,
soapy smell which pervaded the air. "One might even eat from your clean
floor, Antoinette," he said, smiling, "and taste nothing worse with his
food than a bit of soap. Truly the chapel is as clean as a shriven
soul."

"It's a bold bit of dirt that would try to stand out against me,"
declared Mother Meraut, with a flourish of her dust-cloth, "for when I
go after it I think to myself, 'Ah, if I but had one of those
detestable Germans by the nose, how I would grind it!' and the very
thought brings such power to my elbow that I check myself lest I wear
through the stones of the floor."

The Verger laughed, then shook his head. "Truly, Antoinette," he said,
"I believe you could seize your husband's gun if he were to fall, and
fill his place in the Army as well as you fill his place here in the
Cathedral, doing a man's work with a woman's strength, and smiling as
if it were but play! Our France can never despair while there are women
like you."

"My Jacques shall carry his own gun," said Mother Meraut, stoutly, "and
bring it home with him when the war is over, if God wills, and may it
be soon! Meanwhile I will help to keep our holy Cathedral clean as he
used to do. It is not easy work, but one must do what one can, and
surely it is better to do it with smiles than with tears!"

The Verger nodded. "That is true," he said, "yet it is hard to smile in
the face of sorrow."

"But we must smile--though our hearts break--for France, and for our
children, lest they forget joy!" cried Mother Meraut. She smiled as she
spoke, though her lip trembled "I will you the truth, Henri, sometimes
when I think of what the Germans have already done in Belgium, and may
yet do in France, I feel my heart breaking in my bosom. And then I say
to myself, 'Courage, Antoinette! It is our business to live bravely for
the France that is to be when this madness is over. Our armies are
still between us and the Boche. It is not time to be afraid.'"

"And I tell you, they shall not pass," cried Father Varennes, striking
his crutch angrily upon the stone floor. "The brave soldiers of France
will not permit it! Oh, if I could but carry a gun instead of this!" He
rattled his crutch despairingly as he spoke.

Mother Meraut sighed. "Though I am a woman, I too wish I might fight
the invaders," she said, "but since I may not carry a gun, I will put
all the more energy into my broom and sweep the dirt from the Cathedral
as I would sweep the Germans back to the Rhine if I could."

"It is, indeed, the only way for women, children, and such as I,"
grieved the Verger.

"Tut, tut," answered Mother Meraut cheerfully, "it isn't given us to
choose our service. If God had wanted us to fight he would have given
us power to do it."

The Verger shook his head. "I wish I were sure of that," he said, "for
there's going to be need for all the fighting blood in France if half
one hears is true. They say now that the Germans are already far over
the French border and that our Army is retreating before them. The
roads are more than ever crowded with refugees, and the word they bring
is that the Germans have already reached the valley of the Aisne."

"But that is at our very doors!" cried Mother Meraut. "It is absurd,
that rumor. Chicken hearts! They listen to nothing but their fears. As
for me, I will not believe it until I must. I will trust in the Army as
I do in my God and the holy Saints."

"Amen," responded the Verger devoutly.

At this moment the great western portal swung on its hinges, a patch of
light showed itself against the gloom of the interior of the Cathedral,
and the sound of footsteps and of fresh young voices mingled with the
tones of the organ.

"It's the children, bless their innocent hearts," said Mother Meraut.
"I hear the voices of my Pierre and Pierrette."

"And I of my Jean," said the Verger, starting hastily down the aisle.
"The little magpies forget they must be quiet in the House of God!" He
shook his finger at them and laid it warningly upon his lips. The noise
instantly subsided, and it was a silent and demure little company that
tiptoed up the aisle, bent the knee before the altar, and then filed
past Mother Meraut into the chapel which she had made so clean.

Pierre and Pierrette led the procession, and Mother Meraut beamed with
pride as they blew her a kiss in passing. They were children that any
mother might be proud of. Pierrette had black, curling hair and blue
eyes with long black lashes, and Pierre was a straight, tall, and
manly-looking boy. The Twins were nine years old.

Mother Meraut knew many of the children in the Confirmation Class, for
they were all schoolmates and companions of Pierre and Pierrette. There
was Paul, the sore of the inn-keeper, with Marie, his sister. There was
Victor, whose father rang the Cathedral chimes. There were David and
Genevieve, and Madeleine and Virginie and Etienne, and last of all
there was jean, the Verger's son--little Jean, the youngest in the
class. Mother Meraut nodded to them all as they passed.

Promptly on the first stroke of the hour the Abbe appeared in the north
transept of the Cathedral and made his way with quick, decided steps
toward the chapel. He was a young man with thick dark hair almost
concealed beneath his black three-cornered cap, and as he walked, his
long black soutane swung about him in vigorous folds. When he appeared
in the door of the chapel the class rose politely to greet him.
"Bonjour, my children," said the Abbe, and then, turning his back upon
them, bowed before the crucifix upon the chapel altar.

Mother Meraut and the Verger slipped quietly away to their work in
other portions of the church, and the examination began. First the Abby
asked the children to recite the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten
Commandments in unison, and when they had done this without a mistake,
he said "Bravo! Now I wonder if you can each do as well alone? Let me
see, I will call upon--" He paused and looked about as if he were
searching for the child who was most likely to do it well.

Three girls--Genevieve, Virginie, and Pierrette--raised their hands and
waved them frantically in the air, but, curiously enough, the Abbe did
not seem to see them. Instead his glance fell upon Pierre, who was
gazing thoughtfully at the vaulted ceiling and hoping with all his
heart that the Abbe would not call upon him. "Pierre!" he said, and any
one looking at him very closely might have seen a twinkle in his eye as
Pierre withdrew his gaze from the ceiling and struggled reluctantly to
his feet. "You may recite the Ten Commandments."

Pierre began quite glibly, "Thou shalt have no other gods before me,"
and went on, with only two mistakes and one long wait, until he had
reached the fifth. "Thou shalt not kill," he recited, and then to save
his life he could not think what came next. He gazed imploringly at the
ceiling again, and at the high stained-glass window, but they told him
nothing. He kicked backward gently, hoping that Pierrette, who sat
next, would prompt him, but she too failed to respond. "I'll ask a
question," thought Pierre desperately, "and while the Abbe is answering
maybe it will come to me." Aloud he said: "If you please, your
reverence, I don't understand about that commandment. It says, 'Thou
shalt not kill,' and yet our soldiers have gone to war on purpose to
kill Germans, and the priests blessed them as they marched away!"

This was indeed a question! The class gasped with astonishment at
Pierre's boldness in asking it. The Abbe paused a moment before
answering. Then he said, "If you, Pierre, were to shoot a man in the
street in order to take his purse, would that be wrong?"

"Yes," answered the whole class.

"Very well," said the Abbe, "so it would. But if you should see a
murderer attack your mother or your sister, and you should kill him
before he could carry out his wicked purpose, would that be just the
same thing?"

"No," wavered the class, a little doubtfully.

"If instead of defending your mother or sister you were simply to stand
aside and let the murderer kill them both, you would really be helping
the murderer, would you not? It is like that today in France. An enemy
is upon us who seeks to kill us so that he may rob us of our beautiful
home land. God sees our hearts. He knows that the soldiers of France go
forth not to kill Germans but to save France! not wantonly to take
life, but because it is the only way to save lives for which they
themselves are ready to die. Ah, my children, it is one thing to kill
as a murderer kills; it is quite another to be willing to die that
others may live! Our Blessed Lord--"

The Abbe lifted his hand to make the sign of the Cross--but it was
stayed in mid-air. The sentence he had begun was never finished, for at
that moment the great bell in the Cathedral tower began to ring. It was
not the clock striking the hour; it was not the chimes calling the
people to prayer. Instead, it was the terrible sound of the alarm bell
ringing out a warning to the people of Rheims that the Germans were at
their doors.

Wide-eyed with terror, the children sprang from their seats, but the
Abbe, with hand uplifted, blocked the entrance and commanded them to
stay where they were.

"Let no one leave the Cathedral," he cried.

At this instant Mother Meraut appeared upon the threshold searching for
her children, and behind her, coming as fast as his lameness would
permit, came the Verger. The Abbe turned to them. "I leave these
children all in your care," he said. "Stay with them until I return."

And without another word he disappeared in the shadows.

Mother Meraut sat down on one of the chairs she had dusted so
carefully, and gathered the frightened children about her as a hen
gathers her chickens under her wing. "There, now," she said cheerfully,
as she wiped their tears upon the corner of her apron, "let's save our
tears until we really know what we have to cry for. There never yet was
misery that couldn't be made worse by crying, anyway. The boys will be
brave, of course, whatever happens. And the girls--surely they will
remember that it was a girl who once saved France, and meet misfortune
bravely, like our blessed Saint Jeanne d'Arc."

The Cathedral organ had ceased to fill the great edifice with sweet and
inspiring sounds. Instead, there now was only the muffled tread of
marching feet, the rumble of heavy wheels, and the low, ominous beating
of drums to break the stillness.

Mother Meraut and the children waited obediently in the chapel,
scarcely breathing in their suspense, while Father Varennes went
tap-tapping up and down the aisles eagerly watching for the Abbe to
reappear. At last he came. Mother Meraut, the Verger, and the children
all crowded about him, waiting breathlessly for him to speak.

The Abbe was pale, but his voice was firm. "I have been to the north
tower," he said, "and there I could see for miles in every direction.
Far away to the east and north are massed the hordes of the German
Army; they are coming toward Rheims as a thunder-cloud comes rolling
over the sky. Between us and them is our Army, but alas, their faces
are turned this way. They are retreating before the German hosts!
Already French troops are marching through Rheims; already the streets
are filled with people who are fleeing from their homes for fear of the
Boche. Unless God sends a miracle, our City is indeed doomed, for a
time at least, to wear the German yoke."

He paused, and the children burst into wild weeping. Mother Meraut
hushed them with comforting words. "Do not cry, my darlings," she said.
"God is not dead, and we shall yet live to see justice done and our
dear land restored to us. The soldiers now in the streets are all our
own brave defenders. We shall be able to go in safety, even though in
sorrow, to our homes."

"Come," said the Abbe, "there is no time to lose. Our Army will,
without doubt, make a stand on the plains west of the City, and it will
not be long before the Germans pass through. You must go to your homes
as fast as possible. Henri, you remain here with your Jean, that you
may meet any of the parents who come for their children. Tell them I
have gone with them myself and will deliver each child safely at his
own door."

"I can take cart of my own," said Mother Meraut. "You need have no fear
for us."

"Very well," said the Abbe, and, calling the rest of the children about
him, he marched them down the aisle and out into the street.

Mother Meraut followed with Pierre and Pierrette. At the door they
paused and stood for a moment under the great sculptured arches to
survey the scene before them. The great square before the Cathedral was
filled with people, some weeping, others standing about as if dazed by
sorrow. Between the silent crowds which lined the sidewalks passed the
soldiers, grim and with set faces, keeping time to the throbbing of the
drums as they marched. Above the scene, in the center of the square,
towered the beautiful statue of Jeanne d'Arc, mounted upon her charger
and lifting her sword toward the sky.

"Ah," murmured Mother Meraut to herself, "our blessed Maid still keeps
guard above the City!" She lifted her clasped hands toward the statue.
"Blessed Saint Jeanne," she prayed, "hear us in Paradise, and come once
more to save our beautiful France!"

Then, waving a farewell to the Verger and Jean, who had followed them
to the door, she took her children by the hand and plunged with them
into the sad and silent crowd.



II. ON THE WAY HOME

For some time after leaving the Cathedral, Mother Meraut and the Twins
lingered in the streets, forgetful of everything but the retreating
Army and the coming invasion. Everywhere there were crowds surging to
and fro. Some were hastening to close their places of business and put
up their shutters before the Germans should arrive. Some were hurrying
through the streets carrying babies and bundles. Others were wheeling
their few belongings upon barrows or in baby-carriages. Still others
flew by on bicycles with packages of clothing fastened to the
handle-bars; and there were many automobiles loaded to the brim with
household goods and fleeing families.

Doors were flung open and left swinging on their hinges as people
escaped, scarcely looking behind them as they fled. These were refugees
from Rheims itself. There were many others wearily plodding through the
City, people who had come from Belgium and the border towns of France.
Some who had come from farms drove pitiful cattle before them, and some
journeyed in farm wagons, with babies and old people, chickens, dogs,
and household goods mixed in a heap upon beds of straw. In all the City
there was not a cheerful sight, and everywhere, above all other sounds,
were heard the rumble of wheels, the sharp clap-clap of horses' hoofs
upon the pavement, and the steady beat of marching feet.

At last, weary and heartsick, the three wanderers turned into a side
street and stepped into a little shop where food was sold. "We must
have some supper," said Mother Meraut to the Twins, "Germans or no
Germans! One cannot carry a stout heart above an empty stomach! And if
it is to be our last meal in French Rheims, let us at least make it a
good one!" Though there was a catch in her voice, she smiled almost
gaily as she spoke. "Who knows?" she went on. "Perhaps after to-morrow
we shall be able to get nothing but sauerkraut and sausage!"

The shop was not far from the little home of the Merauts, and they
often bought things of stout Madame Coudert, whose round face with its
round spectacles rose above the counter like a full moon from behind a
cloud. "Ah, mon amie," said Mother Meraut as she entered the shop, "it
is good to see you sitting in your place and not running away like a
hare before the hounds!"

Madame Coudert shrugged her shoulders. "But of what use is it to run
when one has no place to run to?" she demanded. "As for me, I stay by
the shop and die at least respectably among my own cakes and pies. To
run through the country and die at last in a ditch--it would not suit
me at all!"

"Bravo," cried Mother Meraut triumphantly. "Just my own idea! My
children and I will remain in our home and take what comes, rather than
leap from the frying-pan into the fire as so many are doing. If every
one runs away, there will be no Rheims at all." Then to Pierre and
Pierrette she said "Choose, each of you. What shall we buy for our
supper?"

Pierre pointed a grimy finger at a small cake with pink frosting.
"That," he said briefly.

His mother smiled. "Ah, Pierre, that sweet-tooth of yours!" she cried.
"Like Marie Antoinette you think if one lacks bread one may eat cakes!
And now it is Pierrette's turn; only be quick, ma mie, for it is
already late."

"Eggs," said Pierrette promptly, "for one of your savory omelets,
mamma, and a bit of cheese."

The purchases were quickly made, and, having said good-night to Madame
Coudert, they hurried on to the little house in the Rue Charly where
they lived. When they reached home, it was already quite dark. Mother
Meraut hastened up the steps and unlocked the door, and in less time
than it takes to tell it her bonnet was off, the fire was burning, and
the omelet was cooking on the stove.

Pierrette set the table. "I'm going to place father's chair too," she
said to her mother. "He is no doubt thinking of us as we are of him,
and it will make him stem nearer."

Mother Meraut nodded her head without speaking, and wiped her eyes on
her apron as she slid the omelet on to a hot plate. Then she seated
herself opposite the empty chair and with a steady voice prayed for a
blessing upon the food and upon the Armies of France.

When they had finished supper, cleared it away, and put the kitchen in
order, Mother Meraut pointed to the clock. "Voila!" she cried, "hours
past your bedtime, and here you are still flapping about like two young
owls! To bed with you as fast as you can go."

"But, Mother," began Pierre.

"Not a single 'but,'" answered his Mother, wagging her finger at him.
"Va!"

The children knew protest was useless, and in a few minutes they were
snugly tucked away. Long after they were both sound asleep, their
Mother sat with her head bowed upon the table, listening, listening to
the distant sound of marching feet. At last, worn out with grief and
anxiety, she too undressed, said her rosary, and, after a long look at
her sleeping children, blew out the candle and crept into bed beside
Pierrette.

Silence and darkness settled down upon the little household, and, for a
time at least, their sorrows were forgotten in the blessed oblivion of
sleep.



III. THE COMING OF THE GERMANS

When the Twins opened their eyes the next morning, the first thing they
saw was the sun shining in at the eastern window of the kitchen, and
Mother Meraut bending over the fire. There was a smell of chocolate in
the air, and on the table there were rolls and butter. Pierre yawned
and rubbed his eyes. Pierrette sat up and tried to think what it was
she was so unhappy about; sleep had, for the time being, swept the
terrors of the night quite out of her mind. In an instant more the
fearful truth rolled over her like a wave, and she sank back upon the
pillow with a little moan.

Her Mother heard and understood. She too had waked from sleep to
sorrow, but she only cried out cheerfully, "Bonjour, my sleepy heads!
Last night you did not want to go to your beds at all. This morning you
wish not to leave them! Hop into your clothes as fast as you can, or we
shall be late."

"Late where?" asked Pierre.

"To my work at the Cathedral, to be sure," answered Mother Meraut
promptly. "Where else? Did you think the Germans would make me sit at
home and cry for terror while my work waits? Whoever rules in Rheims,
the Cathedral still stands and must be kept clean."

It was wonderful how the dismal world brightened to Pierre and
Pierrette as they heard their Mother's brave voice. They flew out of
bed at once and were dressed in a twinkling.

While they ate their breakfast, Pierre thought of a plan. "We ought to
take a lot of food with us to-day," he said to his Mother. "There's no
telling what may happen before night. Maybe we can't get home at all
and shall have to sleep in the Cathedral."

"Oh," shuddered Pierrette, "among all those tombs?"

"There are worse places where one might sleep," said the Mother. "The
dead are less to be feared than the living, and the Cathedral is the
safest place in Rheims." She brought out a wicker basket and began to
pack it with food as she talked. First she put in two pots of jam.
"There," said she, "that's the jam Grandmother made from her
gooseberries at the farm."

She paused, struck by a new alarm. Her father and mother lived in a
tiny village far west of Rheims. What if the Germans should succeed in
getting so far as that? What would become of them? She shut her fears
in her breast, saying nothing to the children, and went on filling the
basket. "Here is a bit of cheese left from last night. I'll put that
in, and a pat of butter," she said; "but we must stop at Madame
Coudert's for more bread. You two little pigs have eaten every scrap
there was in the house."

"There are eggs left," suggested Pierrette.

"So there are, ma mie," said her Mother. "We will boil them all and
take them with us. There's a great deal of nourishment in eggs." She
flew to get the saucepan, and while the eggs bubbled and boiled on the
stove, she and the children set the little kitchen in order and got
themselves ready for the street.

It was after nine o'clock when at last Mother Meraut took the basket on
her arm and gave Pierrette her knitting to carry, and the three started
down the steps.

"Everything looks just the same as it did yesterday," said Pierrette as
they walked down the street. "There's that little raveled-out dog that
always barks at Pierre, and there's Madame Coudert's cat asleep on the
railing, just as she always is."

"Yes," said Mother Meraut, with a sigh, "the cats and dogs are the
same, it is only the people who are different!"

They entered the shop and exchanged greetings with Madame Coudert. They
had bought a long loaf of bread, and Mother Meraut was just opening her
purse to pay for it, when suddenly a shot rang out. It was followed by
the rattle of falling tiles. Another and another came, and soon there
was a perfect rain of shot and shell.

"It is the Germans knocking at the door of Rheims before they enter,"
remarked Madame Coudert with grim humor. "I did not expect so much
politeness!"

Mother Meraut did not reply. For once her cheerful tongue found nothing
comforting to say. Pierre clung to her arm, and Pierrette put her
fingers in her ears and hid her face against her Mother's breast.

For some time the deafening sounds continued. From the window they
could see people running for shelter in every direction. A man came
dashing down the street; dodging falling tiles as he ran, and burst
into Madame Coudert's shop. He had just come from the Rue Colbert and
had news to tell. "The Boches have sent an emissary to the Mayor to
demand huge supplies of provisions from the City, and a great sum of
money besides," he told them, as he gasped for breath. "They are
shelling the champagne cellars and the public buildings of the City to
scare us into giving them what they demand. The German Army will soon
be here."

In a few moments there was a lull in the roar of the guns, and then in
the distance another sound was heard. It was a mighty song of triumph
as the conquerors came marching into Rheims!

"There won't be any more shooting for a while anyway," said the
stranger, who had now recovered his breath. "They won't shell the City
while it's full of their own men. I'm going to see them come in."

All Pierre's fears vanished in an instant. "Come on," he cried, wild
with excitement; "let us go too."

"I'll not stir a foot from my shop," said Madame Coudert firmly. "I
don't want to see the Germans, and if they want to see me, they can
come where I am."

But Pierre had not waited for a reply, from her or any one else. He was
already running up the street.

"Catch him, catch him," gasped Mother Meraut.

Pierrette dashed after Pierre, and as she could run like the wind, she
soon caught up with him and seized him by the skirt of his blouse.
"Stop! stop!" she screamed. "Mother doesn't want you to go."

But she might as well have tried to argue with a hurricane. Pierre
danced up and down with rage, as Pierrette braced herself, and firmly
anchored him by his blouse. "Leggo, leggo!" he shrieked. "I'm going, I
tell you! I'm not afraid of any Germans alive."

Just then, panting and breathless, Mother Meraut arrived upon the
scene. While Pierrette held on to his blouse, she attached herself to
his left ear. It had a very calming effect upon Pierre. He stopped
tugging to get away lest he lose his ear.

"Foolish boy," said his Mother, "see how much trouble you give me! You
shall see the Germans, but you shall not run away from me. If we should
get separated, God only knows whether we should ever find each other
again."

The music had grown louder and louder, and was now very near. "I'll
stay with you, if you'll only go," pleaded Pierre, "but you aren't even
moving."

"Come, Pierrette," said his Mother, "take hold of his left arm. I will
attend to his right; he might forget again. What he really needs is a
bit and bridle!"

The three moved up the street, Pierre chafing inwardly, but helpless in
his Mother's grasp, and at the next crossing the great spectacle burst
upon them. A whole regiment of cavalry was passing, singing at the top
of their lungs, "Lieb' Vaterland, macht ruhig sein." The sun glistened
on their helmets, and the clanking of swords and the jingling of spurs
kept time with the swelling chorus. After the cavalry came soldiers on
foot--miles of them.

"Oh," murmured Pierrette, clinging to her Mother, "it's like a river of
men!"

Her Mother did not answer. Pierrette looked up into her face. The tears
were streaming down her cheeks, but her head was proudly erect. She
looked at the other French people about them. There were tears on many
cheeks, but not a head was bowed. Pierre was glaring at the troops and
muttering through his teeth: "Just you wait till I grow up! I'll make
you pay for this, you pirates! I'll--"

"Hush!" whispered Pierrette. "Suppose they should hear you!"

"I don't care if they do! I wish they would!" raged Pierre. "I'm
going--"

But the German Army was destined not to suffer the consequences of
Pierre's wrath. He did not even have a chance to tell Pierrette his
plan for their destruction, for at this point his Mother, unable longer
to endure the sight, dragged him forcibly from the scene. "They shall
not parade their colors before me," she said firmly, "I will not stand
still and look in silence upon my conquerors! If I could but face them
with a gun, that would be different!"

She led the children through a maze of small streets by a roundabout
way to the Cathedral, and there they were met at the entrance by the
Verger, who gazed at them with sad surprise. "You've been out in the
street during the bombardment," he said reproachfully. "It's just like
you, Antoinette."

"Oh, but how was I to know it was coming?" cried Mother Meraut. "We
left home before it began!"

"It would have been just the same if you had known," scolded the
Verger. "Germans or devils--it would make no difference to you! You
have no fear in you."

"You misjudge me," cried Mother Meraut; "but what good would it do to
sit and quake in my own house? There is no safety anywhere, and here at
least there is work to do."

"You can go about your work as usual with the noise of guns ringing in
your ears and the Germans marching through Rheims?" exclaimed the
Verger.

"Why not?" answered Mother Meraut, with spirit. "I guess our soldiers
don't knock off work every time a gun goes off or a few Germans come in
sight! It would be a shame if we could not follow their example!"

"Antoinette, you are a wonderful woman. I have always said so,"
declared the Verger solemnly. "You are as brave as a man!"

"Pooh!" said Mother Meraut, mockingly. "As if the men, bless their
hearts, were so much braver than women, anyway! Oh, la! la! the conceit
of you!" She wagged a derisive finger at the Verger, and, calling the
children, went to get her scrubbing-pail and brushes.

All day long, while distant guns roared, she went about her daily
tasks, keeping one spot of order and cleanliness in the midst of the
confusion, disorder, and destruction of the invaded city. The Twins
were busy, too; their Mother saw to that. They dusted chairs and placed
them in rows; and at noon they found a corner where the light falling
through one of the beautiful stained-glass windows made a spot of
cheerful color in the gloom, and there they ate part of the lunch which
they had packed in the wicker basket. During all the excitement of the
morning they had not forgotten the lunch!

When the day's work was done, they ventured out upon the streets in the
gathering dusk. They found them full of German soldiers, drinking,
swaggering, singing, and they saw many strange and terrifying sights in
the havoc wrought by the first bombardment. As they passed the door of
Madame Coudert's shop, they peeped in and saw her sitting stolidly
behind the counter, knitting.

"Oh," said Pierrette, "doesn't it seem like a year since we were here
this morning?"

Mother Meraut called out a cheerful greeting to Madame Coudert. "Still
in your place, I see," she said.

"Like the Pyramids," came the calm answer; and, cheered by her
fortitude, they hurried on their way to the little house in the Rue
Charly.

Mother Meraut sighed with relief as she unlocked the door. "Everything
just as we left it," she said. "We at least shall have one more night
in our own home." Then she drew the children into the shelter of the
dear, familiar roof and locked the door from the inside.



IV. THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH

One unhappy day followed upon another for the inhabitants of Rheims.
Each night they went to bed in terror; each morning they rose to face
new trials and dangers. Yet their spirit did not fail. Each day the
roar of guns toward the west grew fainter and more distant, and the
people knew with sinking hearts that the Germans had driven the Armies
of France farther and farther back toward Paris. Each day the conduct
of the conquerors grew more arrogant. "Our Emperor will soon be in
Paris!" they said.

On the public monuments and in the squares of the City appeared German
proclamations printed upon green paper, warning the people of Rheims of
terrible punishments which would befall them if they in any way
rebelled against the will of the victorious invaders. It was only with
great difficulty that Pierre could be dragged by these signs. Each
morning as they went to the Cathedral they had to pass several of them,
and Pierrette and her Mother soon learned to take precautions against
an outburst of rage which might bring down upon his rash head the wrath
of the enemy. The eye of the Germans seemed everywhere. One of these
posters was fixed to the window of Madame Coudert's shop. On the
morning that it first appeared, Pierre in passing made a dash for the
gutter, picked up a handful of mud, and threw it squarely into the
middle of the poster.

Madame Coudert saw him, and winked solemnly, but did not move. His
Mother instantly collared Pierre, and led him up a side street just in
time to escape the clutches of a German officer who had seen him a
block away, and came on the run after him. When, puffing and blowing,
he at last reached the shop there was no one in sight except Madame
Coudert behind her counter. The enraged officer pointed out the insult
that had been offered his country.

Madame Coudert looked surprised and concerned. She followed the officer
to the door, and gazed at the disfigured poster. "I will clean it at
once," she said obligingly. She got out soap and a brush immediately,
and when she had finished, her work had been so thoroughly done that
not a spot of mud was left, but unfortunately the center of the poster
was rubbed through and quite illegible, and the rest of it was all
streaked and stained! "Will that do?" she asked the officer, looking at
him with round, innocent eyes and so evident a desire to please that,
in spite of an uneasy suspicion, he merely grunted and went his way.

The first time they came into the shop after this episode Madame
Coudert gave Pierre a cake with pink frosting on it.

In this way a whole week dragged itself by, and, on the morning of the
eighth day after the German entry into Rheims, Mother Meraut and the
Twins left home earlier than usual in order to reach the Cathedral
before the bombardment, which they had learned daily to expect, should
begin. They found Madame Coudert in front of her shop; washing the
window. A large corner of the poster was now gone. "It rained last
night," she said to Mother Meraut, "and the green color ran down on my
window. I had to wash it, and accidentally I rubbed off a corner of the
poster. It can't be very good paper." She looked solemnly at Pierre.
"Too bad, isn't it?" she said, and closed one eye behind her round
spectacles.

"The weather seems to have damaged a good many of them, I notice,"
answered Mother Meraut, with just a suspicion of a smile. "The weather
has been quite pleasant too,--strange!"

"Weather--nothing!" said Pierre, scornfully. "I'll bet you that--"

It seemed as if Pierre was always being interrupted at just the most
exciting moment of his remarks, but this time he interrupted himself.
"What's that?" he said, stopping short. Madame Coudert, his Mother, and
Pierrette, all stood perfectly still, their eyes wide, their lips
parted, listening, listening! They heard cannon-shots, then
music--toward the west--coming nearer--nearer.

"It is--oh, it is the Marseillaise!" shrieked Pierrette.

Mother Meraut and the Twins ran toward the sound. Now shouts were
heard--joyous shouts--from French throats! Never had they heard such a
sound! People came tumbling out of their houses, some not fully
dressed--but who cared? The French were returning victorious from the
battle of the Marne. They were coming again into Rheims, driving the
Germans before them! Ah, but when the red trousers actually appeared in
the streets the populace went mad with joy! They embraced the soldiers;
they marched beside them with tears streaming down their cheeks,
singing "March on! March on!" as though they would split their throats.
Pierre and Pierrette marched and sang with the others, their Mother
close beside them.

On and on came the singing, joy-maddened people, right past Madame
Coudert's shop, and there, standing on the curb, with a tray in her
arms piled high with goodies, was Madame Coudert herself. The green
poster was already torn in shreds and lying in the gutter. It even
looked as if some one had stamped on it, and above her door waved the
tricolor of France! "Come here," she cried to Pierre and Pierrette,
"Quick! Hand these out to the soldiers as long as there's one left!"

Pierre seized a pink frosted cake, and ran with it to a Captain.
Pierrette gave a sugar roll to the first soldier she could reach; other
hands helped. Mother Meraut ran into the shop and brought out more
cakes. Shop-keepers all along the way followed Madame Coudert's
example, and soon people everywhere were bringing offerings of candy,
chocolate, and cigars to the soldiers, and the streets suddenly
blossomed with blue, white, and red flags. At the corner, near Madame
Coudert's shop, Pierre had the joy of seeing the German officer who had
tried to catch him surrender to the Captain who had taken the pink
cake. Oh, what a moment that was for Pierre! He sprang into the gutter
as the German passed and savagely jumped up and down upon the fragments
of the green poster! It was a matter for bitter regret to him long
after that the German did not seem to notice him.

The whole morning passed in such joy and excitement that it was nearly
noon when at last Mother Meraut, beaming with happiness, and
accompanied by a radiant Pierre and Pierrette, entered the Cathedral.
They were astonished to find it no longer the silent and dim sanctuary
to which they were accustomed. The Abbe' was there, and the Verger,
looking quite distracted, was directing a group of men in moving the
praying-chairs from the western end of the Cathedral, and the space
where they had been was already covered with heaps of straw. Under the
great choir at the western end there were piles of broken glass. Part
of the wonderful rose window had been shattered by a shell, and lay in
a million fragments on the stone floor.

Mother Meraut clasped her hands in dismay. "What does it all mean?" she
demanded of the Verger, as he went tap-tapping by after the workmen.
"What do you wish me to do?"

"Gather up every fragment of glass," said the Verger briefly, "and put
them in a safe place. The wounded are on the way, and are to be housed
in the Cathedral. We must be ready for them. There is no time to lose."

As Mother Meraut flew to carry out his directions, the Abbe' beckoned
to the children. "Can you be trusted to do an errand for me?" he said.

"Yes, Your Reverence," answered Pierre.

"Very well," said the Abbe. "I want you to get for the towers two Red
Cross flags. They must be the largest size, and we must have them soon.
The wounded may arrive at any moment now, and the Red Cross will
protect the Cathedral from shell-fire, for not even Germans would
destroy a hospital." He gave them careful directions, and a note for
the shop-keeper. "Now run along, both of you," he said. "Tell your
Mother where you are going, and that I sent you."

In two minutes the Twins were on their way, but it was more than an
hour before they got back. First, the shop-keeper was out, and when he
got back it took him some time to find large enough flags. At last,
however, they returned, each carrying one done up in a paper parcel.

"Here are the flags," Pierre announced proudly to the Verger, who met
them at the entrance.

"Yes," said Father Varennes, "here they are, and here you are. Come in,
your Mother wants to see you." The children followed him through the
door, and although they had been told that the wounded were to be
brought to the Cathedral, they were not prepared for the sight that met
their eyes as they entered. On the heaps of straw lay tossing moaning
men, in the gray uniforms of the German army.

Pierrette seized Pierre's hand. "Oh," she shuddered, "I didn't think
they'd be Germans!"

"They aren't--all of them," said the Verger, a little huskily. "Some of
them are French. The Church shelters them all."

Doctors in white aprons were already in attendance upon the wounded,
and nurses with red crosses on the sleeves of their white uniforms
flitted silently back and forth on errands of mercy. The two children,
clinging to each other and gazing fearfully about them, followed the
Verger down the aisle. As they passed a heap of straw upon which a
wounded German lay, something bright rolled from it to them and dropped
at Pierrette's feet. Pierre sprang to pick it up. It was a German
helmet. Across the front of it were letters. Pierre spelled them--"Gott
mit uns." "What does that mean?" he asked the Verger.

"God with us," snorted Father Varennes. "I suppose the poor wretches
actually believe He is."

The Abbe' was waiting for them in the aisle, and he took from them the
flags and the helmet. He had heard the Verger's reply, and guessed what
the question must have been. "My boy," he said, laying his hand gently
upon Pierre's head for an instant, "God is not far from any of his
children. It is they who, through sin, separate themselves from Him!
But never mind theology now. Your Mother is waiting for you. I will
take you to her."

The Twins thought it strange that the Abbe' should himself guide them
to their Mother. They followed his broad back and swinging black
soutane to the farthest corner of the hospital space. There, beside a
mound of straw upon which was stretched a wounded soldier in French
uniform, knelt their Mother, and the Twins, looking down, met the eyes
of their own Father gazing up at them.

"Gently! my dears, gently!" cautioned their Mother, as the children
fell upon their knees beside her in an agony of tears. "Don't cry! he
is wounded, to be sure, but he will get well, though he can never again
fight for France. We shall see him every day, and by and by he will be
at home again with us."

Too stunned for speech, the Twins only kissed the blood-stained hands,
and then their Mother led them away. Under the western arches she
kissed them good-by. "Go now to Madame Coudert," she said, "and tell
her your Father is here, and that I shall stay in the Cathedral. Ask
her to take care of you for the night. In the morning, if it is quiet,
come again to me."

Dazed, happy, grieved, the children obeyed. They found Madame Coudert
beaming above her empty counter. "Bless you," she cried, when they gave
her their Mother's message, "of course you can stay! There are no pink
cakes for Pierre, but who cares for cakes now that the French are once
more in Rheims! And to think you have your Father back again! Surely
this is a happy day for you, even though he came back with a wound!"



V. AT MADAME COUDERT'S

The joy of the people of Rheims was short-lived. The Germans had been
driven out, it is true, but they had gone only a short distance to the
east, and there, upon the banks of the Aisne, had securely entrenched
themselves, venting their rage upon the City by daily bombardments.
From ten until two nearly every day the inhabitants of the stricken
City for the most part sat in their cellars listening to the whistling
of shells and the crash of falling timbers and tiles. When the noise
ceased, they returned to the light and air once more and looked about
to see the extent of the damage done. Dur ing the rest of the day they
went about their routine as usual, hoping against hope that the French
Armies, which were now between Rheims and the enemy, would be able not
only to defend the City but to drive the Germans still farther toward
the Rhine.

When the Twins reached the Cathedral the morning after the return of
the French troops, they found their Father resting after an operation
which had removed from his leg a piece of shell, which had nearly cost
his life and would make him permanently lame. Their Mother met them as
they came in. She was pale but smiling. "What a joy to see you!" she
cried, as she pressed them to her breast. "You may take one look at
your Father and throw him a kiss; then you must go back to Madame
Coudert."

"Mayn't we stay with you and help take care of Father?" begged Pierre.

"No," answered his Mother firmly, "the sights here are not for young
eyes. I can wait upon the nurses and keep things clean: My place is
here for the present, but tomorrow, if all goes well, we will sleep
once more in our own little home, if it is still standing. In the mean
time, be good children, and mind Madame Coudert. Now run along before
the shells begin to fall."

The Twins obediently trotted away, and regained the little shop just as
the clock struck ten. The day seemed long to them, for their thoughts
were with their parents, but Madame Coudert was so cheerful herself;
and kept them so busy they had no time to mope. Pierrette helped make
the little cakes, and Pierre scraped the remains of the icing from the
mixing-bowl and ate it lest any be wasted. In some ways Pierre was a
very thrifty boy. Then, too, Madame Coudert allowed them to stand
behind the counter and help wait upon the customers. Moreover, there
was Fifine, the cat, for Pierrette to play with, and the little
raveled-out dog lived only two doors below; so they did not lack for
entertainment.

The next evening their Mother called for them, as she had promised to
do, and they once more had supper and slept beneath their own roof. For
three days they followed this routine, going with their Mother to
Madame Coudert's, where they spent the day, returning at night. On the
fourth day they were again allowed to visit the Cathedral and to see
their Father. "It will do him good to be with his children," the doctor
had said, and so, while Mother Meraut attended to her duties, Pierre
and Pierrette sat on each side of the straw bed where he lay, proud and
responsible to be left in charge of the patient.

Pierre was bursting with curiosity to know about the Battle of the
Marne. Not another boy of his acquaintance had a wounded father, and
though his opportunities for seeing his friends had been few, he had
already done a good deal of boasting; and was pointed out by other boys
on the street as a person of special distinction. "Tell me about the
battle, Father," he begged.

His Father lifted his tired eyes to a statue of Jeanne d'Arc, which was
in plain sight from where he lay. "Well, my boy," he said after a
pause, "there is much I should not wish you to know, but this I will
tell you. On the day the battle turned, the watchword of the Army was
Jeanne d'Arc. Our soldiers sprang to the attack with her name upon
their lips, and some have sworn to me that they saw her ride before us
into battle on her white charger, carrying in her hand the very banner
which you see there upon the altar. I do not know whether or not it is
true, but certainly the victory was with us, and I for my part find it
easy to be lieve that our blessed Saint Jeanne has not forgotten
France." He raised himself a little on his elbow and pointed to a place
not far distant in the nave. "There," he said, "is the very spot upon
which she knelt while her king was being crowned here in our Cathedral
after she had driven our enemies from French soil and had given him his
throne! The happiest moments of her life were here! What place should
be revisited by her pure spirit if not Rheims? My children, I wish you
every day to pray that she may come again to deliver France!" Exhausted
by emotion and by the effort he had made, he sank back upon the straw
and closed his eyes.

Pierrette took his hand. "Dear papa," she said, "every day we will pray
to her as you say, and give thanks to the Bon Dieu that your life has
been spared to us. If only your poor leg--" she stopped, overcome by
tears.

Her Father opened his eyes and smiled. "Ah, little one, what is a leg
more or less;--or a life either for that matter,--when our France is in
danger?" he said. "Is it not so, Pierre?"

Pierre gulped. "France can have all of my legs!" he cried, in a burst
of patriotism. "And when I'm big enough, I'm going to dig a hole in the
ground and put in millions of tons of dynamite and blow up the whole of
Germany! That's what I'm going to do!"

His Father's eyes twinkled. "It seems a long while to wait," he said,
"because now you are only nine, you see."

Just then their Mother came toward the little group. "Magpies!" she
cried, "it seems that you are talking my patient to death. Run along
now to Madame Coudert." At the Cathedral entrance she kissed them, and
then stood for a moment to watch them as they hurried down the street
out of sight.



VI. THE BURNING OF THE CATHEDRAL

On the evening of the 18th of September, Mother Meraut was late in
leaving the Cathedral, and it was nearly dark when she reached Madame
Coudert's door. Pierrette sat on the steps waiting for her, with
Fifine, the cat, in her arms. Madame Coudert was knitting, as usual,
and Pierre was trying to teach the little raveled-out dog to stand on
his hind legs. As their Mother appeared, the children sprang to meet
her.

"How is Father?" cried Pierrette. It was always the first question when
they saw her.

"Better," answered her Mother. "In another week or two the doctor
thinks he can be moved."

She was about to enter the shop to speak to Madame Coudert, when the
air was suddenly rent by a fearful roar of sound. She clasped her
children in her arms. "It's like thunder," she said, patting them
soothingly; "if you hear the roar you know at once that you aren't
killed. Come, we must hurry to the cellar." But before she could take a
single step in that direction there was another terrible explosion.

"Look, oh look!" screamed Pierre, pointing to the Cathedral towers,
which were visible from where they stood; "they are shelling the
Cathedral!"

For an instant they stood as if rooted to the spot. Was it possible the
Germans would shell the place where their own wounded lay--a place
protected by the cross? They saw the scaffolding about one of the
towers burst suddenly into flames. In another moment the fire had
caught and devoured the Red Cross flag itself and then sprang like a
thing possessed to the roof. An instant more, and that too was burning.

"Father!" screamed Pierre, and before any one could stop him or even
say a word, the boy was far up the street, running like a deer toward
the Cathedral. Pierrette was but a few steps behind him.

When she saw her children rushing madly into such danger, Mother
Meraut's exhausted body gave way beneath the demands of her spirit. If
Madame Coudert had not caught her, she would have sunk down upon the
step. It was only for an instant, but in that instant the children had
passed out of sight. Not stopping even to close her door, Madame
Coudert seized Mother Meraut's hand, and together the two women ran
after them. But they could not hope to rival the speed of fleet young
feet, and when they reached the Cathedral square the flames were
already roaring upward into the very sky. The streets were crowded by
this time, and their best speed brought them to the square ten minutes
after the children had reached the burning Cathedral, and, heedless of
danger, had dashed in and to the corner where their helpless Father lay.

The place was swarming with doctors and nurses working frantically to
move the wounded. The Abbe' was there, and the Archbishop also. Already
the straw had caught fire in several places from falling brands. "Out
through the north transept," shouted the Abbe.

Pierre and Pierrette knew well what they had come to do. For them there
was but one person in the Cathedral, and that person was their Father.
They had but one purpose--to get him out. Young as they were, they were
already well used to danger, and it scarcely occurred to them that they
were risking their lives. Certainly they were not afraid. When they
reached their Father's side, they found him vainly struggling to rise.

"Here we are, Father," shouted Pierre: "Lean on us!" He flew to one
side; Pierrette was already struggling to lift him on the other. As his
bed was the one farthest from the spot where the fire first appeared,
the doctors and nurses had sought to rescue those in greatest danger,
and so the children for the time being were alone in their effort to
save him.

The flames were now leaping through the Cathedral aisles, devouring the
straw beds as if they were tinder. In vain Father Meraut ordered them
to leave him. For once his children refused to obey. Somehow they got
him to his feet, and he, for their sakes making a superhuman effort,
succeeded in staggering between them, using their lithe young bodies as
crutches. How they reached the door of the north transept they never
knew, but reach it they did, before the burning flames. And there a new
terror appeared.

The people of Rheims, infuriated by the long abuse which they had
suffered, stood with guns pointed at the wounded and helpless Germans
whom the doctors and nurses had succeeded in getting so far on the way
to safety. Above the roar of flames rose the roar of angry voices. "It
is the Germans who burn our Cathedral. Let them die with it," shouted
one.

Between the helpless Germans and the angry mob; facing their guns,
towered the figures of the Abby and the Archbishop! "If you kill them,
you must first kill us," cried the Archbishop. Kill the Archbishop and
the Abbe'! Unthinkable! The guns were immediately lowered, and the work
of rescue went on.

Out of the north door crept Father Meraut, supported by his brave
children. "Bravo! Bravo!" shouted the crowd, and then hands that would
have killed Germans willingly, were stretched in instant sympathy and
helpfulness to the wounded French soldier and his brave children. Two
men made a chair of their arms, and Father Meraut was carried in safety
to the square before the Cathedral, Pierre and Pierrette following
close behind. At the foot of the statue of Jeanne d'Arc they stopped to
rest and change hands, and there, frantic with joy, Mother Meraut found
them.

"A soldier of France--wounded at the Marne!" shouted the crowd, and if
he had been able to endure it, they would have borne him upon their
grateful shoulders. As it was, he was carried in no less grateful arms
clear to Madame Coudert's door, and there, lying upon an improvised
stretcher, and attended by his wife and children, he rested from his
journey, while Madame Coudert ran to prepare a cup of coffee for a
stimulant. From Madame Coudert's door they watched the further
destruction of the beautiful Cathedral which Mother Meraut had so often
called the "safest place in Rheims." As it burned, a wonderful thing
happened. High above the glowing roof there suddenly flamed the blue
fleur-de-lis of France!

"See! See!" cried Mother Meraut. "A Miracle! The Lily of France! Oh,
surely it is a sign sent by the Bon Dieu to keep us from despair!"

"It is only the gas from an exploding shell, bursting in blue flame,"
said her husband. "Yet--who knows?--it may also be a true promise that
France shall rise in beauty from its ruins."



VII. HOME AGAIN

The next day, they were able to move Father Meraut to his own home. In
spite of the excitement and strain, he seemed but little the worse for
his experience, and the happiness of being again with his family quite
offset the effect of his dangerous journey. Mother Meraut was a famous
nurse, and when he was safely installed in a bed in a corner of the
room which was their living-room and kitchen in one, she was able to
give him her best care. There he lay, following her with his eyes as
she made good things for him to eat or carried on the regular
activities of her home. Pierre and Pierrette sat beside his bed and
talked to him, or, better still, got him to tell them stories of the
things that had happened during his brief stay in the Army. Pierre
brought the little raveled-out dog, with which he was now on the
friendliest terms, to see him, and Madame Coudert also came to call now
and then, bringing a cake or some other dainty to the invalid.

If only the Germans had gone from their trenches on the Aisne, they and
every one else in Rheims would have been quite comfortable, but alas!
this was not to be. The Germans stayed where they were, and each day
sent a new rain of shells upon the unfortunate City. The inhabitants
grew accustomed to it, as one grows used to thundershowers in April.
"Hello! it's beginning to sprinkle," they would say when a shell burst,
spattering mud and dirt upon the passers-by. Signs appeared upon the
street, "Safe Cellars Here," and when the bombardment began, people
would dash for the nearest shelter and wait until the storm was over.

Pierre and Pierrette played out of doors every day, though they did not
go far from their home, and had no one but each other to play with.
Pierrette made a play-house in one corner of the court. Here in a
little box she kept a store of broken dishes, and here she sat long
hours with her doll Jacqueline. Sometimes Pierre, having no better
occupation, played with her. He even took a gingerly interest in
Jacqueline, although he would not for the world have let any of the
boys know of such a weakness.

When the shells began to fall, they would leave their corner and run
quickly to the cellar. As Father Meraut could not go up or down, his
wife stayed in the kitchen beside him. In this way several weary weeks
went by. Mother Meraut went no more to the Cathedral. There was nothing
there that she could do. The great, beautiful church which had been the
very soul of Rheims and the pride of France was now nothing but a
ruined shell, its wonderful windows broken, its roof gone, its very
walls of stone so burned that they crumbled to pieces at a touch. Even
the great bronze bells had been melted in the flames and had fallen in
molten drops, like tears of grief, into the wreckage below. All the
beautiful treasures--the tapestries, wrought by the hands of queens,
and even the sacred banner of Jeanne d'Arc itself--had been destroyed.

Mother Meraut knew, but she did not tell her children, that precious
lives had also been lost, and that buried somewhere in the ruins were
the bodies of doctors and nurses who had given their own in trying to
save the lives of others, and of brave citizens of Rheims who had
fallen in an attempt to save the precious relics carefully treasured
there. Neither did she tell them that little Jean, the Verger's son,
was one of that heroic band. These sorrows she bore in her own breast,
but she never passed near the Cathedral after that terrible night.
Sometimes, when a necessary errand took her to that part of the City,
she would pause at a distance to look long at the statue of Jeanne
d'Arc, standing unharmed in the midst of the destruction about her
still lifting her sword to the sky. In all the rain of shells which had
fallen upon the City not one had yet touched the statue. Only the tip
of the sword had been broken off. It comforted Mother Meraut to see it
standing so strangely safe in the midst of such desolation. "It
stands," she thought, "even as her pure spirit stood safe amidst the
flames of her martyrdom. But I cannot, like her, pray for my enemies
while I burn in the fires they have kindled."

There was yet another burden which she carried safely hidden in her
heart. She had not heard from her father and mother since the Battle of
the Marne. That the Germans had passed through the village where they
lived she knew, but what destruction they had wrought she could only
guess. It was impossible for her at that time to go to them; so she
waited in silence, hoping that some time good news might come. The slow
weeks lengthened into months, and at last Father Meraut was strong
enough to get about on a crutch like Father Varennes. It was a great
day when first he was able to hobble down the steps and out upon the
street, leaning on Mother Meraut's arm on one side, and his crutch upon
the other, with Pierre and Pierrette marching before him like a guard
of honor.

It was now cold weather; winter had set in, and life became more
difficult as food grew scarce and there was not enough fuel to heat the
houses. School should have begun in October, but school-buildings had
not been spared in the bombardment, and it was dangerous to permit
children to stay in them. At last, however, a new way was found to
cheat the enemy of its prey. Schools were opened in the great champagne
cellars of Rheims, and Pierre and Pierrette were among the first
scholars enrolled. Every day after that they hastened through the
streets before the usual hour of the bombardment, went down into one of
the great tunnels cut in chalk, and there, in rooms deep underground,
carried on their studies. It was a strange school, but it was safer
than their home, even though there was danger in going back and forth
in the streets. By spring the children of Rheims had lived so much in
cellars that they were as pale as potato-sprouts.

Mother Meraut watched her two with deepening anxiety. Then, one day in
the spring, a corner of their own roof was blown off by a shell. No one
was hurt, but when a few moments later a second explosion blew a cat
through the hole and dropped it into the soup, Mother Meraut's
endurance gave way.

It was the last straw! She put the cat out, yowling but unharmed, and
silently cleared away the debris. Then, when the bombardment was over,
she put on her bonnet and went out. She came back an hour later, to
find the Twins sitting, one on each side of their Father, holding his
hands, and all three the picture of despair. Mother Meraut stood before
them, her eyes flashing, her cheeks burning a deep red, and this is
what she said: "I will not live like this another day. Life in Rheims
is no longer possible. I will not stay here to be killed by inches. I
have made arrangements to get a little row-boat, and to-morrow morning
we will take such things as we can carry and leave this place. Whatever
may happen to us elsewhere, it cannot be worse than what is happening
here, and it may possibly be better."

Her husband and children looked at her in amazement. She did not ask
their opinion about the matter, but promptly began the necessary
preparations and told them what to do. Clothing was brought to Father
Meraut to be packed in compact bundles and tied up with string. Then
blankets were made into another bundle; a third held a frying-pan, a
coffee-pot, and a kettle, with a few knives, forks, and spoons, while a
fourth contained food. The Twins were sent to say good-by to Madame
Coudert, and to give her a key to the door, and then all the rest of
their household goods were packed away as carefully as time permitted,
in the cellar.

Mother Meraut put the Twins to bed early, but she herself remained at
work most of the night; yet when morning came and the children woke,
she was up and neatly dressed, and had their breakfast ready. She did
not linger over their sad departure, nor did she shed a tear as they
left the little house which had been their happy home. Instead, she
locked the door after them with a snap, put the key in her pocket, and
walked down the steps with the grim determination of a soldier going
into battle, carrying a big bundle under each arm.



VIII. REFUGEES

The Twins and their Father followed the resolute figure of Mother
Meraut down the street, not knowing at all where she was leading them,
but with implicit confidence that she knew what she was about. She was
carrying the heaviest bundles, and the Twins carried the rest between
them, packed in a clothes-basket. On her other arm Pierrette bore her
dearly loved Jacqueline. Father Meraut could carry nothing but such
small articles as could be put in his pockets, but it was joy enough
that he could carry himself, and it was quite wonderful to see how
speedily he got over the ground with his crutch.

Not far from their house in the Rue Charly ran the River Vesle, which
flows through Rheims, and as the Merauts knew well a man whose business
it was to let boats to pleasure parties in summer, the children were
not surprised to see their Mother walk down the street toward the
little wharf where his boats were kept. He was waiting to receive them,
and, drawn up to the water's edge was a red and white row-boat, with
the name "The Ark" painted upon her prow. Mother Meraut smiled when she
saw the name. "If we only had the animals to go in two by two, we
should be just like Noah and his family, shouldn't we?" she said, as
she put the bundles in the stern.

In a few moments they were all seated in the boat, with their few
belongings carefully balanced, and Jacqueline safely reposing in
Pierrette's lap. The boatman pushed them away from the pier. "Au
revoir," called Mother Meraut as the boat slid into the stream. "We
will come back again when the Germans are gone, and in some way I shall
have a chance to send your boat to you, I know. Meanwhile we will take
good care of it."

"There will be few pleasure-seekers on the Vesle this summer," answered
the boat-man, "and the Ark will be safer with you than rotting at the
pier, let alone the chance of its being blown up by a shell. I'm glad
you've got her, and glad you are going away from Rheims. It will be
easy pulling, for you're going down-stream, and about all you'll have
to do is to keep her headed right. Au revoir, and good luck." He stood
on the pier looking after them and waving his hat until they were well
out in the middle of the stream.

Father Meraut had the oars, and, as his arms had not been injured, he
was able to guide the boat without fatigue, and soon the current had
carried them through the City and out into the open country which lay
beyond. Mother Meraut sat in the prow, looking back toward the
Cathedral she had so loved, until the blackened towers were hidden from
view by trees along the riverbank. They had started early in order to
be well out of Rheims before the daily bombardment should begin.

Spring was already in the air, and as they drifted along they heard the
skylarks singing in the fields. The trees were turning green, and there
were blossoms on the apple trees. The wild flowers along the riverbank
were already humming with bees, and the whole scene seemed so peaceful
and quiet after all they had endured in Rheims, that even the
shell-holes left in the fields which had been fought over in the autumn
and the crosses marking the graves of fallen soldiers did not sadden
them.

Mother Meraut sat for a long time silent, then heaved a deep sigh of
relief. "I feel like Lot's wife looking back upon Sodom and Gomorrah,"
she said. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she kissed her
finger-tips and blew the kiss toward Rheims. "Farewell, my beautiful
City!" she cried. "It is not for your sins we must leave you! And some
happy day we shall return."

There was a report, and a puff of smoke far away over the City, then
the sound of a distant explosion. The daily bombardment had begun!

"Your friends are firing a farewell salute," said Father Meraut.

All the morning they slipped quietly along between greening banks,
carried by the current farther and farther down-stream. At noon they
drew the boat ashore beneath some willow trees, where they ate their
lunch, and then spent an hour in such rest as they had not had for many
weary months.

It was then, and not until then, that Father Meraut ventured to ask
his wife her plans. "My dear," he said, as he stretched himself out in
a sunny spot and put his head in Pierrette's lap, "I have great
confidence in you, and will follow you willingly anywhere, but I should
really like to know where we are going."

Mother Meraut looked at him in surprise. "Why, haven't I told you?" she
said "My mind has been so full of it I can't believe you didn't know
that we are going to my father's, if we can get there! You know their
village is on a little stream which flows into the Aisne some distance
beyond its junction with the Vesle. We could drift down to the place
where the two rivers join, and go on from there to the little stream
which flows past Fontanelle. Then we could row up-stream to the
village."

"It's as plain as day, now you tell it," answered her husband, "and a
very good plan, too."

"You see," said Mother Meraut, as she packed away the remains of the
lunch, "I haven't heard a word from them all winter. I don't know
whether they are dead or alive. I haven't said anything about it,
because you were so ill and there were so many other worries, but this
plan has been in my mind all the time. What we shall do when we get to
Fontanelle I do not know, but we shall be no worse off than other
refugees, and at any rate we shall not be under shell-fire every day."

"If we can't find any place to stay there, why can't we go on and on
down the river, until we get clear to the sea," said Pierre with
enthusiasm.

"It's just like being gypsies, isn't it?" added Pierrette.

"So far as I can see," said Mother Meraut, "we've got to go on and on!
Certainly we can't go back."

"No, we can't go back," echoed her husband, with a sigh.

All the pleasant afternoon they drifted peacefully along, and nightfall
found them in open country. It began to grow colder as darkness came
on. "We shall need all our blankets if we are to sleep in the fields,"
said Mother Meraut at last. "It's time for supper and bed, anyway.
Let's go ashore."

"We'll build a fire on the bank and cook our supper there," said her
husband.

"What is there, Mother, that we can cook?"

"There are eggs to fry, and potatoes to roast in the ashes," she
answered, "and coffee besides."

"I am as hungry as a wolf," said Pierrette.

"I'm as hungry as two wolves," said Pierre.

They found a landing-place, and the Ark was drawn ashore. Pierre and
Pierrette ran at once to gather sticks and leaves. These they brought
to their Father, and soon a cheerful fire flamed red against the
shadows. Then the smell of coffee floated out upon the evening air, and
the sputter of frying eggs gave further promise to their hungry
stomachs.

Before they had finished their supper the stars were winking down at
them, and over the brow of a distant hill rose a slender crescent moon.
Pierrette saw it first. "Oh," she cried, "the new moon! And I saw it
over my right shoulder, too! We are sure to have wonderful luck this
month."

Pierre shut his eyes. "Which way is it?" he cried. Pierrette turned him
carefully about so that he too might see it over his right shoulder,
and then, this ceremony completed, they washed the dishes and helped
pack the things carefully away in the clothes-basket once more.

They slept that night under the edge of a straw-stack in the meadow
near the river, and though they were homeless wanderers without a roof
to cover them, they slept well, and awakened next morning to the music
of bird-songs instead of to the sound of guns and the whistling of
shells.



IX. THE FOREIGN LEGION

Fortunately for our pilgrims the weather remained clear and unusually
warm for the season of year, and they were able to continue their
journey the following day in comfort. That night they slept in a
cowshed, where no cows had been since the Germans passed through so
many months before, and on the morning of the third day they reached
the large market town which marked the junction of the little river
upon which the village of Fontanelle was situated with the Aisne.

Mother Meraut was now upon familiar territory, among the scenes of her
childhood. She had often come here with her father when he had brought
a load of produce to sell in the town market. Here they disembarked,
bought a load of provisions, and once more resumed their journey.
Progress from this point on was slower than that of previous days, for
now the current was against them. Father and Mother Meraut took turns
at the oars, and they had gone some four or five miles up the stream
when they came in sight of something quite unfamiliar to Mother Meraut.
Stretching across the level meadows beside the river, as far, as the
eye could see, were rows and rows of tents. Companies of soldiers in
French uniforms were drilling in an open field. Groups of cavalry
horses were herded in an enclosure, and everywhere there were the
activities of a great military encampment.

"It's a French training-camp," cried Father Meraut, and he waved his
cap on the end of an oar and shouted "Vive la France" at the top of his
lungs. Pierre and Pierrette waved and shouted too, and Mother Meraut,
caught by the general excitement, snatched up Jacqueline, who had been
reposing in the basket, and frantically waved her. Some soldiers
answered their signal, and shouted to them.

Father Meraut looked puzzled. "That's not French," he said; "I can't
understand what they say. But they have on French uniforms! I wonder
what regiment it can be. I'm going to find out."

"We're not far from Fontanelle now," said Mother Meraut; "don't you
think we'd better go on?"

"We can't get there without stopping somewhere to eat, anyway," said
Father Meraut. "It's already eleven o'clock, and I'd rather find out
about the soldiers than eat." So they tied the Ark to a willow tree and
went ashore.

In a moment more they were in a city of soldiers, and Father Meraut was
making friends with some of the men who were lounging near the
cook-house, sniffing the savory smell of soup which issued from it in
appetizing gusts. Pierre and Pierrette sniffed too, and even Mother
Meraut could not help saying appreciatively, "That cook knows how to
make soup." Pierre laid his hand upon his stomach and smacked his lips.
"Pierre," said his mother, reprovingly, "where are your manners, child?"

At that moment two soldiers were passing--one a tall, thin man, and one
much smaller. They paused and laughed, and the tall man laid his hand
on his stomach, too, and smacked his lips.

"Are you hungry, kid?" he said genially to Pierre. Pierre looked blank.

The short man punched the tall man in the ribs. "Don't you see he's
French," he said derisively. "Did you think you were back home in
Illinois? Why don't you try some of your parley-voo on him? You're not
getting on with the language; here's your chance for a real Parisian
accent."

"Oh, g'wan," answered the tall man. "Try your own French on him! I
guess it won't kill him; he looks strong."

The short man came nearer to Pierre and shouted at him as if he were
deaf. "Avvy-voo-doo faim?"

Pierre withdrew a step nearer his mother and Pierrette. "Je ne
comprends pas!" he said politely. "Pardon."

The tall man took off his cap and rumpled his hair. "Try it again,
Jim," he said, "even if he is scared. They look to me like refugees,
and as if a good bowl of soup wouldn't strike their insides amiss, but
your French would stampede a herd of buffaloes!"

"Try it yourself, then," said the short man, grinning.

The tall man sat down on a box at the door of the tent and beckoned to
Pierre. "I say, kid," he began, "avvy-voo-doo-fam--fam?" He rubbed his
stomach in expressive pantomime.

"Mamma," cried poor puzzled Pierre, "he asks me if I have a wife, and
rubs his stomach as if he had a stomach-ache. What does he mean?"

Mother Meraut came forward, trying hard not to laugh. "Que voulez-vous,
Messieurs?" she said politely.

The tall man was on his feet instantly with his cap in his hand. "You
see, ma'am," he began, "we're from the States-des Etats-Unis! We've
come here to fight le Boche--savez-vows?--combattre le Boche!" He waved
his arms frantically and made a motion as if shooting with a gun.

A smile broke over Mother Meraut's face, and she held out both hands.
"Les Americains!" she cried joyfully, "des Etats-Unis, dans l'uniforme
de la France! Mais maintenant nous exterminons le Boche!" She called
Pierrette and Pierre to her side. "These are Americans," she explained
in French, "come from the United States of America to fight with us.
Shake hands with them."

The Twins obeyed shyly, and when their Father rejoined the family a few
moments later, their friendship had progressed to such an extent that
Pierre was seated on one side of the tall man and Pierrette on the
other, and they were all three studying a French phrase-book. The short
man, called Jim, was gesticulating wildly, and talking to Mother
Meraut, and she, good soul, looked so wise, and said "Oui" and "Non,"
and nodded her head so intelligently to encourage him, that he never
suspected that she did not understand one word in ten, and cast
triumphant glances at the tall man to see if he was observing his
success.

At this moment a French Captain came by. The men sprang to their feet,
clicked their heels together, and saluted. Father Meraut stiffened into
military position and saluted also. The officer returned the salute,
then stopped and spoke to him. "You are a soldier of France, I see," he
said. "Where did you get your wound?"

"With Joffre, at the Marne, mon Capitaine," answered Father Meraut,
proudly. And then he told the Captain of his being brought wounded to
the Cathedral in Rheims, of its bombardment and burning, and of his
rescue by Pierre and Pierrette.

The Captain turned to the Americans and said to them in English: "We
have here three heroes of France instead of one! These children have
lived under constant fire since last September, and they rescued their
wounded father from the burning Cathedral of Rheims at the risk of
their own lives." The Americans saluted Father Meraut, then they
saluted Pierre and Pierrette, while Mother Meraut stood by, beaming
with pride.

"We will ask them to dine with us as our guests," said the Captain,
and, turning to Father Meraut, he spoke again in French. "This is the
Foreign Legion," he said. "It is made up of friends of France, brave
men of different countries who came voluntarily to fight with us
against the Boche. Here they receive special training under French
officers before going to the front. These Americans have only just
come. They do not know much French, but they wish you to dine with
them."

Ah, what a day that was for Pierre and Pierrette! Their story was
passed about from one to another, and, instead of being homeless,
wandering refugees, they found themselves suddenly treated as
distinguished guests, by real soldiers. Pierre swelled with pride, and
if he had only been able to speak their language, how glad he would
have been to tell the Americans about the return of the French to
Rheims, the green poster, Madame Coudert, and many other things! Alas,
he could only eat his soup and gaze about him at all the activities
that were going on in camp. When at last it was time for them to go, it
was with the greatest difficulty that Pierre could be torn away from
his new-found friends.

"Come again, old pal," said the tall man, slapping Pierre cordially on
the back as he said good-by. "Come again and see your Uncle Sam! Come
and bring your family!"

Pierre grinned, although he did not understand a word, shook hands, and
ran down the river-bank to join his parents and Pierrette, who were
already climbing into the boat.

"Jim" and "Uncle Sam" looked after them as the Ark swung out into the
stream. "Au revoir," shouted Pierre, waving his hand. "Vive la France!"
And back came the reply like an echo, "You bet your life, vive la
France!"



X. FONTANELLE

The shadows were beginning to lengthen across the valley as the Ark
rounded a bend in the stream and the little church spire of Fontanelle
came into view. "There it is--at last!" cried Mother Meraut. "Thank
God, something of the village still stands!" She gazed eagerly into the
distance. "And there is the Chateau," she added joyfully, pointing to a
large gray stone building half hidden by a fringe of trees. "Oh, surely
things are not going to be so bad as I had feared. Hurry! hurry! It
seems as though my heart must take wings and fly before my body, now
that we are so near!"

Father Meraut bent to the oars. "I will stay with the boat while you
and the children go to the village," he said, when, a few moments
later, he found a favorable spot to land.

Mother Meraut was out of the boat almost before it was beached, the
Twins sprang out after her, and the three started up the road to the
village on a run. Groves of trees just bursting into leaf lay between
them and the one street of the little town, and it was not until they
had passed it that they could tell how much damage had been done. The
sight that met their eyes as they entered the village was not
reassuring, but, hoping against hope, they ran on to the little house
which had been Mother Meraut's childhood home. At the threshold they
paused, and the tears which Mother Meraut had resolutely refused to
shed when she had said good-by to her own home in Rheims fell freely as
she gazed upon the ruins of the home of her parents. The house was
empty, the windows were gone, the door was wrenched from its hinges,
and the roof was open to the sky. The whole village was in much the
same condition. Every house was empty, the street deserted.

Neither Mother Meraut nor the Twins said a word. With heavy hearts they
turned from the gaping doorway and started toward the Chateau, which
lay half a mile beyond the village. Not a soul did they meet until they
arrived at the great gate which marked the entrance to the park, and
then they saw that the Chateau too had suffered. It had been partly
burned out, but as its walls were standing and one wing looked
habitable, their spirits rose a little. At the gate a child was
playing. They stopped. "Can you tell me, ma petite," said Mother
Meraut, her voice trembling, "whether there is any one here by the name
of Jamart?"

"Mais--oui," answered the child, surveying the strangers with
curiosity. "Voila!" She pointed a stubby finger toward the Chateau, and
there, just disappearing behind a corner of the wall, was the bent
figure of an old woman carrying a pail of water.

With a cry of joy, Mother Meraut sprang forward, and Pierre and
Pierrette for once in their lives, run as they would, could not keep up
with her. She fairly flew over the ground, and when the Twins at last
reached her side, the pail of water was spilled on the ground, and the
two women were weeping in each other's arms. An old man now came toward
them and the children flung themselves upon him. "Grandpere!
Grandpere!" they shouted, and then such another embracing as there was!

Grand'mere kissed the Twins, and Grandpere hugged Mother Meraut, and
then, because the tears were still running down their cheeks, Grandpere
pointed to the overturned pail, and the water flowing in little
wiggling streams through the dust. "Come, dear hearts," he cried, "are
these your tears? Weep no more, then, lest we have a flood after our
fire! This is a time to rejoice! Wipe your eyes, my Antoinette, and
tell us how you came here. It is as if the sky had opened to let down
three angels--and where, then, is Jacques?"

By this time a group of people had gathered about them--the little
remnant of the old prosperous village of Fontanelle. "Here we are, you
see," said Grandpere, "all that are left of us. Every able-bodied young
woman was driven away by the Germans to work in their fields--while
ours lie idle. Every able-bodied man is in the army. There are only
twenty-seven of us left--old women, children, and myself. There you
have our history."

Mother Meraut shook each old friend by the hand, looked at all the
babies and children, and proudly showed her Twins to them in return,
before she said a word about the sorrows they had endured in Rheims,
and the desperation which had at last driven them from their home. The
people listened without comment. They had all suffered so much that
there was no room left in their hearts for new grief, but when she told
them of the boat and her lame husband they rejoiced with her that she
had the happiness at least of a united family. There was plenty of room
in their hearts for joy! "Come with us," they said. "We cannot be
poorer. Our cattle are driven away; we have no strong laborers to till
our fields, no seeds to plant in them. We live in one wing and the
outhouses of the Chateau, but hope is not yet dead, and your hands are
strong. Your husband, too, can help, and we shall be at least no worse
off for your being here."

Grand'mere spoke. "We live in the cow-stalls of the stable," said she.
"It is not so bad; there is still hay in the loft, and there are other
stalls not occupied."

Mother Meraut crossed herself. "If the Blessed Mother of Our Lord could
live in a stable," she said, "such shelter is surely good enough for
us."

Father Meraut, sitting patiently in the boat, was surprise, a little
later as he looked anxiously toward the village, to see a crowd of
people coming toward him, waving caps and hands in salutation. Before
the others ran Pierre and Pierrette, and when they reached him they
poured forth a jumble of excited words, from which he was able to
gather that Grandpere and Grand'mere were alive and well, and that
there was a place for them to stay. He got out of the boat to greet the
people, and their willing hands took the bundles and helped hide the
Ark in the bushes, and the whole company then started back to the
Chateau, Grandpere lingering behind the others to keep pace with the
slow progress of Father Meraut.

When Grand'mere, the Twins, and their Mother reached the stable they
took their bundles from the hands of their friends, and went in to
inspect their new home. The stable had been swept and scrubbed until it
was as clean as it could be made. The large box stall served as a
bedroom for Grand'mere and Grandpere. Above their bed of hay, covered
with old blankets and quilts, was hung a wooden crucifix. This, with
two boxes for seats, was all the furniture it contained. A few articles
of clothing hung about on nails, and in the open space before the
stalls a stove was placed, the pipe running through a pane of glass in
a window near by.

When Grandpere and Father Meraut arrived, Mother Meraut met them at the
door. "Behold our new apartment!" she said, and she led her husband to
one of the clean stalls, where she had already begun to set up
housekeeping. The Twins were at that moment in the loft overhead,
getting hay for their beds, and Jacqueline, exhausted by her journey,
had been put to bed in the manger.

Father Meraut looked about. "This is not bad for the summer," he said,
"and who knows what good luck may come to us by fall? Perhaps the
Germans will be driven out of France by that time, and surely we shall
be able to do some planting even now."

"We have dug up the ground for gardens as best we could with the few
tools we have," said Grandpere. "The government would send us seeds,
but the roads are very bad, and we have no horses, and supplies are
hard to get even though we have money to pay for them. The nearest town
where provisions can be obtained lies six miles below, at the mouth of
the river, and it is very little one can carry on one's back."

"Is there no way to get help from the soldiers' camp?" asked Father
Meraut. "They must get supplies."

"Yes, but they cannot of themselves at this time take care of the
civilian population," said Grandpere. "There are many villages in the
same condition, and the soldiers' business is to fight for France."

"True," said Father Meraut. Then he exclaimed: "I have it! The Ark! It
will indeed be our salvation as it was Father Noah's."

Grandpere looked anxiously at Mother Meraut and touched his forehead.
"He is not mad?" he asked.

She laughed. "The name of our boat is the Ark," she explained. "We can
use it to go down the river to buy provisions if there are any to be
had."

Grand'mere, who had been listening, looked cautiously about, then felt
under the straw of her bed and brought out a stocking. "See!" she said.
"I have money. The others have money too, but of what use is money when
there is nothing to buy and no place to buy it?"

"We must find a place to buy things," said Mother Meraut with decision.
"Grandpere and Jacques can take the Ark and go down the river on a
voyage of discovery, and bring back the supplies that we most need."

After supper the whole village gathered about the stable door to hear
all the news which the Meraut family had brought from the outside
world. For months they had not seen a newspaper, and there had been no
visitors in Fontanelle. And when Father Meraut had finished telling
them all the story of Rheims, of the burning of the Cathedral, of the
miraculous safety of the statue of Saint Jeanne, of his own escape, and
the final destruction of the roof over their heads, and their flight
from the city, the pressing needs of the little village and his and
Grandpere's proposed voyage were discussed, and it was very late when
at last the people separated and the little village settled down for
the night.



XI. A SURPRISE

The next morning the whole village was up early, and plans were
perfected for the voyage of Father Meraut and Grandpere. A long list of
necessary articles was made out, and the money for their purchase
safely hidden away in their inside pockets. They were just about to
start down the road to the river, when suddenly a wonderful thing
happened. Right through the great gate of the Chateau rumbled a large
motor truck with an American flag fluttering from the radiator! It was
driven by a strange young woman in a smart gray uniform. Beside her on
the driver's seat sat an older woman dressed the same way and carrying
in her hand a black medicine-case.

The girl stopped her engine, climbed down to the ground, and approached
the astonished people of Fontanelle: "Bon jour," she said, smiling.
Then in excellent French she explained her errand. "We are Americans,"
she said, and at that name every face smiled back at her. "We have come
to help you restore your homes. America loves and admires the French
people, and since we women cannot fight with you, we wish at least to
help in the reconstruction of your beautiful France. Your government
has given us permission to start our work here, and has promised help
from the soldiers whose camp is near. The money we bring from America
will purchase materials, and with your labor and the help of the
soldiers we shall soon see what can be done."

For a moment after she had ceased speaking there was silence. The
people of Fontanelle were too astonished for words. So much good
fortune after all their sorrow left them stunned. It was Pierre who
first found his voice. He took off his cap, swung it in the air and
shouted, "Vive l'Amerique," at the top of his lungs, and "Vive
l'Amerique," chorused the whole village, relieved to be able to vent
their feelings in sound.

Mademoiselle laughed. "Vive la France," she answered, and then, turning
to the truck, she cried, "Come and see what we have in our little shop
on wheels. But first let me introduce to you Dr. Miller. She is an
American doctor who has come to take care of any who may be sick."

The Doctor had already climbed down from her high seat and was opening
the back of the truck. She smiled and shook hands with the people. "Is
there not something here you wish to buy?" she asked. "The prices are
plainly marked."

Everybody now crowded about the truck, and in it,--oh,
wonderful,--piled on the floor and hanging from the top and sides, were
the very things for which they had been longing so eagerly! There were
hoes, and shovels, and rakes, and garden seeds of all kinds. There were
bolts of cloth and woolen garments and wooden shoes, and yarn for
knitting. There were even knitting-needles! And, best of all, there was
food, food such as they had not seen in many weary months. Ah, it was
indeed marvelous what that truck contained!

The buying began at once, and never before had any one been able to
purchase so much for a franc! Soon there was nothing left in the truck
but some bedding and other articles belonging to the Doctor and
Mademoiselle, as the people at once began to call her.

"Will you not come with me to my apartment in the stable?" said Mother
Meraut cordially to the two women. "You must be tired from your
journey."

"We must first see the Commandant at the camp," said the Doctor, "and
then we shall be happy if you will find some lunch for us. It is
necessary to see at once if our houses have come."

"Your houses!" cried Pierre, so surprised that he quite forgot his
manners. "But, Madame, it is not possible that you carry your houses
with you like the snails?"

The Doctor laughed. "Not just like the snails," she said; "our houses
have been sent on ahead of us in sections, with the army supplies, and
are no doubt here in the care of the Commandant."

"Go, my Pierre, conduct them to the camp," said his Mother, "and when
you come back," she added, turning to the two women, "I will have ready
for you the best that my poor house affords." The Doctor and
Mademoiselle thanked Mother Meraut, and then, following Pierre, started
down the river road toward the camp a mile or more away.

The next few days seemed to Pierre and Pierrette, and indeed to all the
inhabitants of Fontanelle, little less than a series of miracles. In
the first place, the Doctor and Mademoiselle had scarcely finished the
good lunch which Mother Meraut had waiting for them on their return
from camp, when a great truck, loaded with sections of the portable
houses, entered the great gate of the Chateau. It was followed by a
detachment of soldiers from the Foreign Legion, sent by the Commandant
to erect them. The soldiers were also Americans, and Pierre and
Pierrette were delighted to find that both "Jim" and "Uncle Sam" were
among them. Indeed Uncle Sam was in command of the squad, and when he
presented himself and his men to the Doctor and Mademoiselle, he
explained that the Commandant had detailed Americans to this duty, as
he thought that they would more easily understand what the ladies
wished to have done.

The whole place now swarmed with people working as busily as bees in a
hive. By night one house was fit to be occupied. The following night
two more had been erected, and the soldiers had laid tent floors in all
of them. The day after that six more young women in gray came, bringing
more supplies. Under the generalship of the Doctor, Mother Meraut was
installed in the carriage-house which opened from the stable, and here
she prepared meals for her family and for all the new-comers as well.
The Doctor established a dispensary in one room of the Chateau, and
Mademoiselle opened a store in the basement, keeping there for sale a
large quantity of the supplies which had been brought by the six young
women. Father Meraut and Grandpere worked hard on the gardens, assisted
by Pierre and Pierrette and any other person in the village who was
capable of wielding a hoe. Soon people began to come in from the
neighboring hamlets, bringing their sick babies to the Doctor for
treatment. The great truck was loaded with supplies received through
the Army Service and the Red Cross, and the young women took turns in
driving the "Shop on Wheels" into other, less favored districts, to
start there work similar to that begun at Fontanelle.

Uncle Sam and Jim came so often to the village that they were soon on
friendly terms with every one in it. They acted as emissaries between
the camp and the village, and if anything was needed which was beyond
the power of these determined women to supply, Uncle Sam and Jim seemed
always by some miracle to accomplish it. One day the Doctor said to Jim
"I wish there were some way of getting a good cow here. These little
children cannot get rosy and strong without fresh milk, and they
haven't had any since the Germans drove away their cows."

A week later Jim appeared at the Chateau gate leading a cow! There was
a card tied to one horn. The Doctor removed it and read, "To Dr. Miller
for the little children of Fontanelle."

"It's from the Commandant," said Jim, beaming with pride.

The cow proved such a success, and the babies and young children showed
at once such improvement, that the Doctor determined that they should
have not only milk but fresh eggs, and Mademoiselle was sent to Paris
to make investigations, and, if possible, place an order for more cows
and some hens. Upon her return she announced that a load of live-stock
from southern France would soon arrive at the nearest railroad station,
five miles away.

"It's going to be a regular menagerie," said Mademoiselle, when she
told Mother Meraut about it. "There will be two more cows, two pigs, a
pair of goats, ten pairs of rabbits, and sixty fowls."

"Mercy upon us!" cried Mother Meraut. "Where in the world can we put
them all? Must we move out of our apartment to admit the cows?"

"No," laughed Mademoiselle, "we must find another way to take care of
them. The cows can stay out of doors now, and there is grass to feed
them and the goats. They can all be tethered by ropes, if necessary,
but we must find a secure place to keep the pigs and the rabbits, and
the chicken-house must be mended and put in order for the fowls."

"But Madame Corbeille now resides in the chicken-house. What will
become of her and her children?" cried Mother Meraut.

"Easy enough," said Mademoiselle; "there is still room in your stable,
is there not? For example, there is the granary! It will do excellently
for the Corbeilles. Pierre and Pierrette will help build the
rabbit-hutch, I know, and there we are, all provided for!"

So it was arranged, and that afternoon another family came to live
under the same roof with the Merauts. Grandpere, with his new hammer
and some nails, mended the chicken-house, and then helped Pierre and
Pierrette build enclosures for the rabbits and pigs out of stones and
rubble from the fallen walls.

At last the day came when all the creatures were to arrive, and
Mademoiselle arranged that the Twins, Mother Meraut, and four of her
own party of young women should go to the railroad station to get them.
The great truck was brought out, ropes were then thrown in, and all the
people who composed what Mademoiselle called the "Reception Committee"
climbed in and sat on the floor, while Mademoiselle and the Doctor
occupied the driver's seat. The soldiers had done some work on the
roads, so they were not as bad as they had been earlier in the spring;
but they were still bad enough, and the people in the truck were
bounced about like kernels of corn in a popper.

"Now," said Mademoiselle, when they arrived at the station, "the fowls
and the rabbits will have to go back in the truck. That will be easy,
for they came in crates; but the cows, the goats, and the pigs must be
either led or driven."

"It sounds simple enough," said the Doctor, "but have any of you ever
known any cows or pigs? Do you know how to manage them?"


"I have an acquaintance with cows," said Mother Meraut, "but to goats
and pigs I am a stranger."

"Very well," said Mademoiselle, "Mother Meraut shall lead the way with
the cows. You, Kathleen and Louise," she said, turning to two of the
gray-uniformed girls, "you shall attend the goats. Mary and Martha may
tackle the pigs. Pierre and Pierrette will serve excellently as
short-stops in case any of our live-stock gets away, and the Doctor and
I will bring up the rear."

"It's going to be a regular circus!" said Kathleen. "I feel as if we
ought to wear spangles and be led by a band."

"We haven't any clown, though," said Martha.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Mary, "if we'd all look like clowns in this
parade."

The car with the creatures in it was standing on a side track, and the
station agent, looking doubtfully at the girls, led the way to it, and
after the rabbits and fowls had been loaded into the truck, placed a
gangplank for the cows to walk down, and opened the door of the car.
But nothing happened; the cows obstinately refused to step down the
plank.

"Here's a rope," said Mademoiselle, at last, throwing one up to the
agent. "I hoped we shouldn't need it, but I guess we do."

The agent fixed the rope to the horns of one of the cows, and threw the
other end to Mademoiselle. "Now," said he, "pull gently to begin with."

Mademoiselle, pale but valiant, pulled, quietly at first, then harder.
The cow put her head down, braced her feet and backed.

"Come on," cried Mademoiselle to the others, "we'll all have to pull
together."

Any one who could get hold of it seized the rope.

"I never played 'pom pom pull away' with a cow before," quavered
Louise. "I--I--don't feel sure she knows the rules of the game!"

"She'll soon learn," said Mademoiselle, grimly. "Don't welch. Now,
then, one--two--three--pull!"

At the word, they all leaned back and pulled. The cow, yielding
suddenly, shot out of the car like a cork out of a champagne bottle,
and the girls attached to the rope went down like a row of bricks. The
rope flew out of their hands, and the cow went careering down the track
with the rope dangling wildly after her, while the other cow, fired by
her example, came bawling after. When they found grass by the roadside
they became reasonable at once. Mother Meraut then took charge of them,
and, as Kathleen remarked, "that ended the first movement." The second
began when the goats were unloaded. Mademoiselle took no chances with
them. She got the agent to put ropes on them in the first place, and
Kathleen and Louise, cautiously advancing to the plank, held up
propitiatory offerings of grass.

"That's right," laughed Mademoiselle, "leading citizens with bouquets!
Perhaps a speech of welcome might help. They aren't the first old goats
to be received that way."

"Hush!" implored Louise. "My knees are knocking together so I can
hardly stand up now, and suppose they should butt!"

"In the words of the immortal bard 'butt me no butts,'" murmured
Kathleen, as they reached the gang-plank.

The agent, having attached the rope and released the goats from their
moorings, stood back and gave them full access to the open door,
holding the other end of the rope firmly in his hands. "You can take
the ropes when they are safely down the plank," he cried gallantly.
"They need a man to handle them."

"Oh, thank you," said Kathleen and Louise with one voice.

The goats accepted the suggestion of the open door at once and galloped
down the gang-plank with such reckless speed that the agent lost his
footing and came coasting down after them. "Mille tonneurs!" he
exclaimed, as he reached the end of the gang-plank and struck a bed of
gravel. "Those goats are possessed of the devil!"

The Doctor was beside him in an instant. "I hope you are not injured,"
she cried. "Is there anything I can do for you? I am a doctor."

"No, Madame," said the agent, bowing politely, as he got himself on his
feet again, "I am hurt only in my pride, and you have no medicine for
that!"

"Oh," cried Mademoiselle, "how brave it was of you! It's as you
say--they need a man to manage them!"

The station agent looked at the goats, who were now grazing peacefully,
attended by Kathleen and Louise, and then, a little thoughtfully, at
Mademoiselle. "It is indeed better that a man should take these risks,"
he said, throwing out his chest. "And there are still the pigs! I doubt
not they are as full of demons as the Gadarene Swine themselves!"

"What should we do without your help?" said Mademoiselle. "The pigs
cannot be roped!"

"No," said the agent sadly, "they cannot." He considered a moment. Then
he motioned to Pierre and Pierrette, who were standing with Mary and
Martha at a respectful distance. "Come here, all of you," he said,
addressing them from the top of the gang-plank; "pigs must be taken by
strategy. I am an old soldier. I will engineer an encircling movement.
Mademoiselle; will you stand here at the left, and, Madame la Docteur,
will you station yourself at my right? The rest of you arrange
yourselves in a curved line extending westward from Madame. Then I will
release the pigs, and you, watching their movements, will head them off
if they start in the wrong direction. Voila! We will now commence."

He went back into the car, and in another moment the pigs, squealing
vociferously, thundered down the gang-plank, gave one look at the
"encircling movement," and, wheeling about, instantly dashed under the
car and out on the other side into an open field. It was not until they
had made a complete tour of the village, pursued by the entire
personnel of the "encircling movement" that they were at last turned
into the Fontanelle road.

"This isn't--the way--this parade--was advertised!" gasped Kathleen, as
she struggled with her goat in an effort to take her appointed place in
the caravan. "The--cows--were to--go--first!"

"Never mind," answered Louise cheerfully, as she pulled her goat into
the road. "A little informality will be overlooked, I'm sure."

Mother Meraut followed them with the cows, and last of all Mademoiselle
and the Doctor climbed into the truck and brought up the rear of the
procession, with all the roosters crowing at the top of their lungs.

There is not time to tell of all the adventures that befell them on the
eventful journey back to Fontanelle. One can merely guess that it must
have been full of excitement, since the Reception Committee did not
reach the village with their charges until some time after dark. Mother
Meraut was worried because she was not home in time to get a hot supper
for the tired girls, but when they arrived they found that Grand'mere
had stepped into the breach, and had made steaming hot soup for every
one. Grandpere and Father Meraut took charge of the live-stock, and
Mother Corbeille milked the cows.

As they dragged themselves wearily to bed that night, Kathleen
decorated Mademoiselle with a huge cross,--cut out of paper,--which she
pinned upon her nightgown. "For extreme gallantry," she explained, "in
leading your forces into action in face of a fierce charge by two
goats, and for taking prisoner two rebellious pigs!" Then she saluted
ceremoniously and tumbled into bed.



XII. MORNING IN THE MEADOW

As summer came on, life seemed less and less sad to the people of
Fontanelle. With the coming of the Americans the outlook had so changed
that, although the war was not yet over, they could look forward to the
future with some degree of hope. The news brought from Rheims by
occasional refugees was always sad. The Germans continued to shell the
defenseless city, and the Cathedral sustained more and more injuries,
but the beautiful stained-glass windows had been carefully taken down,
the broken pieces put together as far as possible, and the whole
shipped to safer places in France. The statue of Jeanne d'Arc within
the church had also been taken from its niche, while the one before the
Cathedral doors still remained unharmed by shot and shell.

It comforted Mother Meraut to think of that valiant figure standing
alone amid such desolation. She had other things to comfort her as
well. With food and fresh air the roses bloomed again in the cheeks of
her children. Soon, too, the gardens began to yield early vegetables.
In the morning, instead of hearing the sound of guns, they were
awakened by bird-songs, or by the crowing of cocks and the bleating of
goats. These were pleasant sounds to the people of Fontanelle, for they
brought memories of peaceful and prosperous days, and the promise of
more to come.

The rebuilding of the village was begun by the end of June, and the
sound of saws and hammers cheered them with the prospect of comfortable
homes before cold weather should come again. The work proceeded slowly,
for the workers were few, even though their good friend the Commandant
gave them all the help he could. There were now a multitude of little
chicks running about on what had been the stately lawns of the Chateau,
and there were twenty new little rabbits in the rabbit-hutch. As the
rabbits could not forage for themselves, it was necessary for others to
forage for them, and this work fell to the lot of Pierre and Pierrette.

One summer morning one of the roosters crowed very, very early, and the
Twins, having no clock, supposed it was time for them to get up and go
for fresh leaves and roots for the rabbits, as they did every day. They
rose at once, and the sun was just peering above the eastern horizon as
they came out of the stable door. They went to the rabbit-hutch, and
the rabbits, seeing them, stood up on their hind legs and wiggled their
noses hungrily.

"Rabbits do have awful appetites," said Pierre, a little ruefully, as
he looked down at the empty food-box. "Just think what a pile of things
we brought them yesterday."

"There's nothing to do but get them more, I suppose," answered
Pierrette.

"I know where there's just bushels and bushels of water-cress," said
Pierre, "but it's quite a long distance off. You know the brook that
flows through the meadow between here and camp? It's just stuffed with
it, and rabbits like it better than almost anything."

"Let's go and get some now," said Pierrette. "We can take the
clothes-basket and bring back enough to last all day."

Pierre went for the basket, and the two children started down the road
which ran beside the meadow toward the camp. It was so early that not
another soul in the village was up. Even the rooster had gone to sleep
again after his misguided crowing. One pale little star still winked in
the morning sky, but the birds were already winging and singing, as the
children, carrying the basket between them, set forth upon their quest.

When they reached the brook, they set down the basket, took off their
wooden shoes, and, wading into the stream, began gathering great
bunches of the cress. They were so busy filling their basket that they
did not notice the sun had gone out of sight behind a cloud-bank, and
that the air was still with that strange breathless stillness that
precedes a storm. It was not until a loud clap of thunder, accompanied
by a flash of lightning, suddenly broke the silence, that they knew the
storm was upon them. When they looked up, the meadow grasses were bend
ing low before a sudden wind, and the trees were swaying to and fro as
if in terror, against the background of an angry sky.

"Wow!" said Pierre. "I guess we're in for it! We can't possibly get
home before it breaks."

"Oh," gasped Pierrette, as another peal of thunder shook the air, "I
don't want to stay out in it. What shall we do?"

Pierre looked about him. A little distance beyond the brook, toward the
camp, there was a straw-stack with a rough straw-thatched shed beside
it, half hidden under a group of small trees. Pierre pointed to it.
"We'll leave the basket here," he said, "and hide under the straw until
the storm is over. Then we can come back again, get it, and go home."

Another clap of thunder, louder still, sent them flying on their way,
and they did not speak again until they were under the shelter of the
shed. The first big drops fell as they reached it, and then the storm
broke in a fury of wind and water. The children cowered against the
stack itself as far as possible out of reach of the driving rain.

They had been there but a few moments, when they heard a new sound in
addition to the roar of the wind and the patter of the rain upon the
leaves. It was the dull tread of heavy footsteps, and they were
surprised to see a man running toward the straw-stack, his head bent to
shield his face from the rain, under the brim of an old hat. His
clothes were rough and unkempt, and altogether his appearance was so
forbidding that the children instinctively dived under the straw at the
edge of the stack like frightened mice, and burrowed backward until
they were completely hidden, though they could still peep out through
the loose straw.

The man reached the shed almost before they were out of view, but it
was evident that he had not seen them, for he did not glance in their
direction. He took off his hat and shook the rain-drops from it. Then
he wiped his face and neck with a soiled handkerchief and sat down on
the edge of a bench that had once been used for salting cattle. He sat
still for a little while, with his feet drawn up on the bench and his
hands clasping his knees, the better to escape the rain. Then he began
to grow restless. He walked back and forth and peered out into the rain
in the direction of the camp. The children were so frightened they
could hear their own hearts beat, but they had been in danger so many
times, and in so many different ways that they kept their presence of
mind, and were able to follow closely his every move. Soon they heard
the sound of more footsteps, and suddenly there dashed under the shed a
soldier in the uniform of France. It was evident that the first man
expected him, for he showed no surprise at his coming, and the two sat
down together on the bench and began to talk.

The wind had now subsided a little, and though they spoke in low tones
the children could hear every word.

"Whew!" said the soldier as he shook his rain-coat. "Nasty weather."

"All the better for our purposes," answered the other man. "There's
less chance of our being seen."

"Not much chance of that, anyway, so early in the morning as this,"
answered the soldier, looking at his watch. "It's not yet four o'clock!"

"Best not to linger, anyway," said the other man. "That Captain of
yours has the eyes of a hawk. I was up at camp the other day selling
cigarettes and chocolate, and he eyed me as if he was struck with my
beauty."

"I wish you'd keep away from camp," said the soldier, impatiently. "It
isn't necessary, and you might run into some one who knew you back in
Germany. There are all kinds of people in the Foreign Legion. I tell
you, it isn't safe, and besides, I can get all the information we need
without it."

"All right, General," responded the other, grinning. "But have you
_got_ it? That's the question. I expect that buzzard will be flying
around again over this field in a night or so,--the moon is 'most full
now, and the nights are light,--and I've got to be able to signal him
just how to find the powder magazine and the other munitions. Then he
can swoop right over there and drop one of his little souvenirs where
it will do the most good and fly away home. I advise you to keep away
from that section of the camp yourself."

"Here is the map," said the soldier, drawing a paper from his pocket,
"and there are also statistics as to the number of men and all I can
find out about plans for using them. Take good care of it. It wouldn't
be healthy to be found with it on you."

The first man pocketed the paper. "That's all, is it?" he asked.

"All for this time, anyway," answered the soldier.

The man looked at him narrowly.

"Well," said the soldier, "what's the matter? Don't I look like a
Frenchman?"

"You'd deceive the devil himself," answered the man with a short laugh.
"No one would ever think you were born in Bavaria. Don't forget and
stick up the corners of your mustache, though. That might give you
away. When do you think you can get over to see that fort?"

"I don't know," answered the soldier sharply, "but I'll meet you here
day after to-morrow at the same hour. Auf Wiedersehen," and he was gone.

After his departure, his companion lingered a moment, lit a cigarette,
looked up at the sky, and, seeing that the shower was nearly over,
strolled off in the opposite direction.

The children, looking after him, saw him come upon their basket near
the brook, examine it carefully, and then look about in every direction
as if searching for the owners. Seeing no one, he gave it a kick and
passed on. They watched him, not daring to move until he turned toward
the river and was out of sight. Later they saw a boat come from the
shelter of some bushes on the bank, and slip quietly down the stream
with the man in it.

When they dared move once more they crawled out from under the straw,
and Pierrette said, "Well, what do you think of that?"

"Think!" Pierre said, choking with wrath. "I think he's a miserable dog
of a spy! They are both spies! And they are going to try to blow up the
whole camp! You come along with me." He seized Pierrette by the hand,
and the two flew over the wet meadow toward the distant camp.

"Whatever should we do if we met that soldier?" gasped Pierrette,
breathless with running and excitement.

"Look stupid," said Pierre promptly. "He didn't see us, and he'd never
dream we had seen him; but, by our blessed Saint Jeanne, this is where
I get even with the Germans! Let's find Jim and Uncle Sam."

Reveille was just sounding as they entered the camp and presented
themselves at the door of Uncle Sam's tent. During the weeks that had
elapsed since their arrival in France, Jim and Uncle Sam had acquired a
fair working knowledge of the language, and, though it still remained a
queer mixture of French and English, they and the children managed to
understand each other very well.

"Bonjour, kids!" cried Uncle Sam in astonishment, when he saw the two
children at the tent door. "What on earth are you doing here? Don't you
know visitors are not expected in camp at this hour?"

"Sh--sh!" said Pierre, laying his finger on his lips. "Nobody must see
us! We have important news!"

Uncle Sam sat up in bed. "Why, I believe you have," he said, looking
attentively at their pale faces. "Just wait a minute while I get my
clothes on. Here, you--Jim," he added, poking a recumbent figure in the
adjoining cot. "Roll out! It's reveille!"

Jim sat up at once and rubbed his eyes, and, after a hurried
consultation, the two men turned the two children with their faces to
the wall in one corner of the tent, while they made a hasty toilet in
the other.

"Now, then, out with it," said Uncle Sam a few moments later. "Que
vooly-voo? What's up?"

Jim sat down beside him on the edge of the cot, and the two men
listened in amazement to the story the two children had to tell. When
they had finished, Uncle Sam wasted no words. "Come with me to the
Captain tooty sweet," he said. And Jim added, as he patted the Twins
tenderly on the head, "By George, mes enfants, you ought to get the war
cross for this day's work."

A few moments more, and the children and Uncle Sam were ushered by an
orderly into the presence of the Captain, who was just in the act of
shaving. Uncle Sam's message to him had been so imperative that they
were admitted at once to his presence, even though his face was covered
with lather and he was likely to fill his mouth with soap if he opened
it. Uncle Sam saluted, and the Twins, wishing to be as polite as
possible, saluted too. The Captain returned the salute, and went on
shaving as he listened to their story, grunting now and then
emphatically instead of speaking, on account of the soap. When Pierre
came to what the soldier had said under the shed, he was so much
interested that he cut his chin.

"So that's their program, is it?" he sputtered, soap and all, mopping
his chin. "But how on earth did you happen to be in such a place as
that at such an hour in the morning?"

Pierre explained about the rabbits and the cress, and Uncle Sam added:
"They're from Fontanelle. Their father is a soldier wounded at the
Marne, and they lived under fire in Rheims for eight months before
coming here. They're some kids, believe me! They know what war is."

"Yes," said the Captain, "I remember them; they came up the river some
weeks ago." Then he turned to the children. "Would you know that
soldier if you were to see him again?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said the children.

"Very well," said the Captain, "the men will go to breakfast soon. You
stay with Sam and watch them, and if you see that man go by you step on
Sam's foot. No one must see you do it. Be sure you don't make a mistake
now," he added, "and if you really do unearth the rascal, it's the best
day's work you ever did, for yourselves as well as for France. Sam, you
report to me afterwards, and be sure you give no occasion for suspicion
to any one."

"Yes, sir," said Sam, and saluted. Pierre and Pierrette saluted also.

The Captain returned the salute with ceremony. "You are true soldiers
of France," he said to the Twins as they left his tent.


If their comrades were surprised to see Uncle Sam standing with two
children by his side while the others passed into the mess tent with
cups and plates in hand, no one said anything. It was a little
irregular to be sure--but then--Americans were always unexpected! For a
long time the men filed by, and still there was no sign of the face
they sought. At last, however, Pierre came down solidly on Uncle Sam's
right foot, and at the same time Pierrette touched his left with her
wooden shoe. There, right in front of them, carrying his plate and cup,
and twirling his mustache, was the man they sought!

The Twins stood still, and not by the quiver of an eyelash did they
betray any excitement until the man had passed into the tent. Then
Uncle Sam said to them, "Now you scoot for home, or your Mother will be
worried to death! Tell your Father and Mother all about it, but don't
tell another soul at present." The children flew back across the
meadow, picked up their basket of cress, and when they reached the
Chateau, fed the hungry rabbits. Then they found their Father and
Mother and told them their morning's adventures.



XIII. CHILDREN OF THE LEGION

It must not be supposed, because things were more cheerful for the
inhabitants of Fontanelle, that they had forgotten the war. They were
reminded of it every day, not only by the presence of soldiers, but by
the sound of distant guns, and by the visits of German airplanes. Often
in the middle of the night an alarm would be given, and the people of
the village would spring from their beds and seek refuge in the cellars
of the Chateau--that is, all but Kathleen; she obstinately refused to
go, even when the Doctor reasoned with her. "Let me die in my bed," she
pleaded. "It's better form. Our best people have always done it, and
besides when I'm waked suddenly that way I'm apt to be cross." So, when
the sound of the buzzing motor was heard in the sky, she simply drew
the covers over her head, and stayed where she was, while a strange,
half-clad procession, recruited from stables and granary, filed into
the Chateau cellar. These raids were likely to occur on bright nights,
and as the time of the full moon approached, the people of the village
grew more watchful and slept less soundly.

On the night following the adventure of the Twins in the meadow, though
the moon shone, no aerial visitor appeared, nor did one come the next
night after. Neither did any news from camp come to the village. Pierre
and Pierrette longed to tell Mademoiselle and the Doctor their secret,
but Uncle Sam had told them to share it with no one but their parents,
and they knew obedience was the first requisite of a good soldier; so
they said nothing, and nearly burst in consequence. They went no more
to the meadow after cress, however. Mother Meraut saw to that. If they
had gone there on the morning of the next day but one after their
encounter with the spies, they would have had a still more thrilling
experience, for at midnight Uncle Sam, Jim, and the Captain had quietly
stolen away from camp and hidden themselves in the straw. There they
stayed until in the gray of the early dawn they saw a boat come up the
river, and the slouching figure of the spy stalk across the meadow to
his rendez-vous under the shed. They stayed there until the soldier
appeared, and until they had heard with their own ears the plan for
signaling the German airplane that night, and for giving information
which would en able the aviator to blow up their stores of powder and
ammunition. Then, suddenly and swiftly, at a prearranged signal, the
three men sprang from the straw, and the astonished spies found
themselves surrounded and covered by the muzzles of three guns. They
saw at once that resistance was useless, and sullenly obeyed the
Captain's order to throw up their hands. They were then marched back to
camp, turned over to the proper authorities, and the next morning at
sunrise they met the fate of all spies who are caught.

That was not the end of the affair, however, for, knowing that the
airplane which the spy had referred to as the "Buzzard" was to be
expected that night, and that the German aviator would look for signals
from the straw-stack, plans were made for his reception, and this part
of the drama was witnessed from the village as well as from the camp.
The night was clear, and at about eleven o'clock the whirr of a motor
was heard in the distance. The Doctor, who had returned late from a
visit to a sick patient in an adjoining village, heard it, and at once
gave the alarm. Out of their beds tumbled the sleepy people of
Fontanelle, and, wrapping themselves in blankets or any garment they
could snatch, they ran out of doors and gazed anxiously into the sky.

Pierre and Pierrette, with their parents and grandparents, were among
the first to appear. They saw the black speck sail swiftly from the
east, and hover like a bird of ill omen over the meadows. No alarm
sounded from the camp, but suddenly from the shadows three French
planes shot into the air. Two at once engaged the enemy, while a third
cut off his retreat. The battle was soon over. There were sharp reports
of guns and blinding flashes of fire as the great machines whirled and
maneuvered in the air, and then the German, finding himself outnumbered
and with no way of escape, came to earth and was taken prisoner.

"Three of 'em bagged, by George," exclaimed Jim to Uncle Sam, when the
aviator was safely locked up in the guardhouse, "and all due to the
pluck and sense of those two kids. If it hadn't been for them, the
chances are we'd all have been ready for cold storage by this time.
They've saved the camp--that's what they've done! There are explosives
enough stored here to have blown every one of us to Kingdom-come!"

"Right you are, Jim," replied Uncle Sam with hearty emphasis, "we
surely do owe them something, and that's a cinch. Let's talk with the
boys."

That night Uncle Sam and Jim made eloquent use of all the French they
knew as they sat about the camp-fire, and told the story of Pierre and
Pierrette to their comrades in arms. Not only did they tell of their
finding the spies and saving the camp from destruction, but of their
Father, wounded at the Marne, of their experience in the Cathedral at
Rheims, and of all they had suffered there, and especially of their
plucky Mother whose spirit no misfortune could break. And when they had
finished the tale, the men gave such a hearty cheer for the whole
Meraut family that it was heard in the village a mile away, though no
one there had the least idea what the noise was about.

The next day Uncle Sam and Jim appeared in Fontanelle and told the
story of the spies to the Doctor and Mademoiselle, and then they held a
long private conference with Mother Meraut. The children were on pins
and needles to know what they were talking about, and why Mother Meraut
looked so happy afterward, but she only shook her head when they begged
her to tell them, and said, "Someday you'll find out."

Two days later an orderly rode into the Chateau gate on horseback, and
inquired for Pierre and Pierrette Meraut. At the moment he arrived the
Twins were feeding the rabbits, but they came running to the gate when
their Mother called them, and the orderly handed them an envelope with
their names on it in large letters. The Twins were so excited they
could hardly wait to know what was inside. They had never before
received a letter. Their Mother opened it and read the contents to the
astonished children. This was the note:--

"The Commandant and men of the Foreign Legion request the pleasure of
the company of Pierre and Pierrette Meraut, and of all the people of
Fontanelle at a birthday party to be held at Camp (of course the exact
name of the camp has to be left out on account of the Censor) on July
14th at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. R. S. V. P."

The eyes of Pierre and Pierrette almost popped out of their heads with
surprise. "Why, Mother," they cried, "that's our birthday! And it's
Bastille Day too! Do you suppose it is the birthday of the Commandant
also?"

"Maybe," said their Mother, smiling. "Anyway it is the birthday of our
dear France."

The orderly smiled, too, and touched his hat. "Is there an answer?" he
asked.

"There will be," said Mother Meraut, "but first the others must be
told."

The Twins ran with their wonderful letter to the dispensary and told
the Doctor. Then they found Mademoiselle, who, with Kathleen's
assistance, was putting a new tire on one wheel of the truck. They
found Louise mending a chicken-coop, and Mary and Martha sorting
supplies in the storeroom. They found all the other people of the
village, some in the garden and some working elsewhere, and every
single one said they should be delighted to go.

"Now," said Mademoiselle, when they returned to her and reported, "you
must write your acceptance."

The Twins looked blank. "Can't we just tell him?" they asked anxiously.
"We can't write very well--not well enough to write to the Commandant."

"Oh, but," said Mademoiselle, "I'm sure he will expect a letter, and
you must just write the very best you can, and it will be good enough,
I'm sure. Get writing-materials, and I will help you."

At her direction Pierre brought paper and ink from her little house,
and the two children sat down on the ground beside the truck.

"Now, what shall we say?" asked Pierrette.

"I know," said Pierre; "let's say: 'Thank you for asking us to your
party. We are all coming. Amen!' Don't you think that would do?"

Mademoiselle bent over her tire. "Yes," she said, "I think he will like
that, but I'd both sign it if I were you."

So the Twins signed it and put it in an envelope and gave it to the
orderly, who promptly put it in his pocket, saluted, wheeled his horse,
and galloped away toward camp.

The days before the party were full of excitement for the Twins. They
thought of nothing else, and how strange it was that Bastille Day and
the Commandant's birthday both should be the same as theirs. Mother
Meraut bought some cloth, and made Pierrette a new dress, and Pierre a
new blouse, to wear on the great occasion, and when the day finally
came, the children searched the fields to find flowers for a bouquet
for the Commandant; since they had no other birthday gift to offer him.

At three o'clock in the afternoon the whole village was ready to start.
Mademoiselle drove the truck with the old people and little children
sitting in it on heaps of straw. Kathleen was the driver of the Ford
car, and had as passengers Father Meraut, because he was lame, and
Grandpere because he was Grandpere, and the Twins because it was their
birthday; and everybody else walked.

When they reached the camp, they found Jim and Uncle Sam ready to act
as guard of honor to conduct them to the Commandant, who, with the
Captain beside him, waited to receive them beside the flagstaff at the
reviewing-stand of the parade-ground. It seemed very strange to Pierre
and Pierrette that they should walk before their parents, and even
before the Doctor and Mademoiselle, but Uncle Sam and Jim arranged the
procession, and placed them at its head. So, carrying their bouquet of
flowers, they followed obediently where their escort led. "Now, kids,"
said Uncle Sam in a low voice as they neared the reviewing-stand, "walk
right up and mind your manners. Salute and give him the bouquet, and
speak your piece."

"We haven't any piece to speak," quavered Pierrette, very much
frightened, "except to wish him many happy returns of his birthday."

Uncle Sam's eyes twinkled. "That'll do all right," he said; only of
course he said it in French.

The regiment was massed before the reviewing-stand as the little
company came forward to meet their host, and when at last Pierre and
Pierrette stood before the Commandant, with the beautiful flag of
France floating over them, though they had been fearless under
shell-fire, their knees knocked together with fright, and it was in a
very small voice that they said, together, "Bonjour, Monsieur le
Commandant, accept these flowers and our best wishes for many happy
returns of your birthday."

The Commandant took the flowers and smiled down at them. "It is not my
birthday, my little ones," he said gently, "it is the birthday of our
glorious France and of two of her brave soldiers, Pierre and Pierrette
Meraut, as well, and the Foreign Legion is here to celebrate it! Come
up here beside me." He drew them up beside him on the reviewing-stand
and turned their astonished faces toward the regiment.

"Men of the Foreign Legion," he said, "these are the children who
discovered two spies, and by reporting them saved our camp from
probable destruction." Then, turning again to the children, he said:
"By your prompt and intelligent action you have prevented a terrible
catastrophe. In recognition of your services the Foreign Legion desires
to make you honorary members of the regiment, and France is proud to
claim you as her children!" Then he pinned upon their breasts a cockade
of blue, white, and red, the colors of France, and kissed them on both
cheeks, the regiment meanwhile standing at attention.

When he had finished the little ceremony, the men, responding to a
signal from the Captain; burst into a hearty cheer. "Vive Pierre! Vive
Pierrette! Vive tous les Meraut," they cried.

For a moment the Twins stood stunned, petrified with astonishment,
looking at the cheering men and at the proud upturned faces of their
parents and the people of Fontanelle. Then Pierre was suddenly
inspired. He waved his hat in salutation to the flag which, floated
above them and shouted back to the regiment, "Vive la France!" and
Pierrette saluted and kissed her hand. Then the band struck up the
Marseillaise, and everybody sang it at the top of his lungs.

It was a wonderful golden time that followed, for when the children had
thanked the Commandant, all the people of Fontanelle were invited to
sit on the reviewing-stand and watch the regiment go through the
regular drill and extra maneuvers in honor of the day, and when that
was over, the guests were escorted back to the mess tent, and there
they had supper with the men. Moreover, the camp cook had made a
magnificent birthday cake, all decorated with little French flags. It
was cut with the Captain's own sword, and though there wasn't enough
for the whole regiment, every one from Fontanelle had a bite, and
Pierre and Pierrette each had a whole piece.

When the beautiful bright day was over and they were back again in
Fontanelle, the Twins found that even this was not the end of their joy
and good fortune, for Mother Meraut told them that the regiment had put
in her care a sum of money to provide for their education. "Children of
such courage and good sense must be well equipped to serve their
country when they grow up," the Commandant had said, and the men,
responding to his appeal, had put their hands in their pockets and
brought out a sum sufficient to make such equipment possible.

More than that, Uncle Sam and Jim had two small uniforms made for
them,--only Pierrette's had a longer skirt to the coat,--and on parade
days and other great occasions they wore them to the camp, with the
blue, white, and red cockades pinned proudly upon their breasts.
Indeed, they became the friends and pets of the whole regiment, and
were quite as much at home with the soldiers as with the people of
Fontanelle.

Then one day Uncle Sam had a letter from home in which there was
wonderful news. It said that the city of Rheims had been "adopted" by
the great, rich city of Chicago far away across the seas, and that some
happy day when the war should be over and peace come again to the
distracted world, Rheims should rise again from its ashes, rebuilt by
its American friends.

In this hope the Twins still live and work, performing their duties
faithfully each day, like good soldiers, and praying constantly to the
Bon Dieu and their adored Saint Jeanne that the blessings which have
come to them may yet come also to all their beloved France.



PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY

KEY

ale, care, am, arm, ask; eve, end; menu, ice, ill; old, obey, orb, odd;
food; zh = z in azure; N = the French nasal. ' An apostrophe indicates
a short sounding of the preceding consonant.

_Proper Names_

  Aisne
  Amerique
  Boche
  Charly
  Corbeille
  Coudert
  Fifine
  Jacqueline
  Jacques
  Jeanne d'Arc
  Marseillaise
  Meraut
  Pierre
  Rheims
  Varennes
  Vesle


_French Words and Phrases_

Abbe

Bon Dieu (Heavenly Father)

Bonjour (Good-day; hello; how do you do?)

chateau (castle)

combattre le Boche (fight the Boche)

grand'mere (grandmother)

grandpere (grandfather)

"Les Americains des Etats-Unis, duns l'uniforme de la France. Mais
maintenant nous exterminons le Boche." ("Americans from the United
States, in the uniform of France. Surely now we shall crush out the
Boche.")

Mille tonneurs! (Great heavens!)

Que voulez-vous? (What do you wish?)

Verger

Vive (Long live)

Vive la France (Long life to France!)

Vive tous les Meraut (Long life to all the Meraut family.)

"Auf Wiedersehen" (German: "Till we meet again," or "Good-bye.")

"Lieb' Vaterland, macht ruhig sein" (German national anthem: "Dear
Fatherland, be tranquil.")



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS

The French Twins offers a valuable supplement to the study of current
events. In the first place, there is no problem of arousing interest in
the nation which this book represents. France and the French people
have from the outbreak of the Great War compelled new and intense
interest and sympathy from all Americans; and each fresh insight into
the character, life, and ideals of the country is eagerly welcomed.
Moreover, in any class there will be few children who cannot claim
either a relative or a friend who has served in the War; and many, like
Pierre and Pierrette Meraut, will have had soldier fathers, thereby
creating a bond between themselves and the Merauts strong enough to
guarantee the pupils' interest throughout the reading of the book. Like
the other books of the "Twins Series," _The French Twins_ adapts itself
readily to dramatization.

In providing adequate background for the story, the teacher will find
fertile resources in newspapers and magazines. _The Red Cross
Magazine_, _The National Geographic Magazine_, the Boy Scout and the
Girl Scout publications, are readily accessible and contain much
valuable supplementary material for classroom use. The Foreign Legion,
the Battles of the Marne, Joffre's visit to the United States, Rheims
Cathedral, important events near the scenes of the story, etc., can be
made clear and real to the children by the aid of maps, illustrations,
and articles in these magazines, and by means of picture post-cards,
and other material from other sources. The story of the founding of the
Red Cross, the origin of its flag, etc., will help to vivify the
incidents connected with this organization.

As for French history, the two focus points are the stoniest of Joan of
Arc and Bastille Day. Both furnish abundance of colorful detail and
incident upon which to build the pupils' conceptions of the spirit and
ideals of the French people. In the case of Bastille Day, correlation
should be made between that day and our own Independence Day, comparing
the French and American Revolutions and indicating the similar
circumstances in the two movements. Lafayette's part in our War of the
Revolution and America's payment of our debt to France in the Great War
form another means of making familiar to the children the story of our
historic friendship with France.

While _The French Twins_ is a war story, soldiers and trenches and
battle-fields are nevertheless not the main features; on the contrary,
_The French Twins_ depicts the necessary part played by women,
children, and old people during the War, and shows how the spirit and
aims of the soldiers' families have been the same as those of the
soldiers themselves. Self-control, endurance, and cheerfulness at home
are proved to be as much a part of true bravery as fearlessness in
battle. Since the soldier's part in the War has been held closely to
everyone's attention, the reading of this story will supply a balancing
view of the other side of war; and the pupils' perspective of the whole
cannot fail to gain in scope.

Books which may be commended to the teacher, for descriptions of
various aspects of the Great War, are: Hay's _The First Hundred
Thousand_; Nicolas's _Campaign Diary of a French Officer_; Aldrich's _A
Hilltop on the Marne_; Hall's _High Adventure_ and _Kitcheners Mob_;
Buswell's _Ambulance No. 10_; Haigh's _Life in a Tank_; Stevenson's
_From "Poilu" to "Yank"_; two anonymous books, _The Retreat from Mons_
and _Friends of France_; Paine's _The Fighting Fleets_; and Root and
Crocker's _Over Periscope Pond_.

For children's reading, we suggest Mrs. Perkins's _The Belgian Twins_,
Sara Cone Bryant's _I am an American_, Thwaites and Kendall's _History
of the United States_, Tappan's _Little Book of the War_, and such
compilations as _Stories of Patriotism_ and _The Patriotic Reader_.