urse of English history. Instead of being a hunted fugitive he
was now acknowledged as king and openly received the fealty of his
subjects. The English strongholds in Scotland were overthrown, and
Scotland became a kingdom in fact as well as in name. Moreover, Bruce's
wife and daughter, who had been imprisoned in England, were set at
liberty. Fighting was not yet over, however, and border warfare for a
time continued with varying success on either side. Edward Bruce, the
brother of King Robert, was killed when fighting in Ireland.

In 1328 a treaty was signed with England in which the English
recognized that Scotland was now fairly entitled to her independence
and that Bruce was her rightful ruler.

But the great king was not to enjoy for long the fruits of his victory.
His hardships in the wilderness when flying from his enemies, and his
great suffering and lack of food when he fled in the Scotch heather
like a hunted animal, had made him fall prey to a terrible malady--the
disease of leprosy. So great was the love in which the Scots held him
that even this did not make them shun him with the fear that is shown
toward ordinary sufferers from this disease. Surrounded by friends,
Bruce gradually wasted away and died in 1329. His noble follower,
Douglas, who had won the name from the English of "the black Douglas,"
took the heart of the dead king and placed it in a silver box, planning
to carry it to Jerusalem. But Douglas himself did not live to place it
there, for he was killed in a battle with the Moors.

In all history there have been great soldiers and chiefs of Scottish
birth. How great the Scots are as soldiers has been shown in the recent
war, where they rendered the most distinguished service for Great
Britain, fighting under the British flag, their former quarrels with
England reconciled, if not forgotten. But of all none was more glorious
than Robert Bruce, and his name is a household word to-day through the
whole of Scotland.

CHAPTER XI

JEANNE D'ARC

In northern France the river Meuse runs through broad meadowlands,
where the sun shines dimly for many months each year, and cold, rolling
mists sweep down upon the earth in winter, coating each twig with
silver. There, in the little village of Domremy, in the year 1412, was
born a girl named Jeanne d'Arc, whose father, Jacques d'Arc, was a
simple peasant.

When Jeanne d'Arc was born life was hard and dangerous in Domremy. The
villagers were har