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