ous noise of music in the
market-place, and another procession was formed, which marched off
round the town, and at last stopped before the door of a house. Here
they remained for a long time. There was a great deal of cheering, and
the band played tune after tune, finishing up with the Belgian
National Anthem. And what do you think it was all about? A boy whose
parents lived in the house had gained a prize at school. That was all;
but it was an excuse for a procession, music, and drinking healths.

Not long ago a young man won a prize at a great School of Music in
Brussels called the _Conservatoire_, and so his native town must needs
have a procession. There were two bands, a number of flags, and
several carriages, in one of which the young fellow sat, bowing from
side to side as he was driven through the streets to a cafe, at which
what they call the _vin d'honneur_, or cup of honour, was served.

In the same town two years ago the football team of a regiment
quartered there won a cup, and there was a long procession of soldiers
and townsmen in honour of the event. The cup was carried in triumph on
a platform adorned with wreaths, and the crowd shouted as if the
soldiers were returning victorious from war.

The Belgians have always been the same in their love of such displays.
Long ago their country was oppressed by the Spaniards, who killed and
tortured many of them without mercy. But that made no difference, and
their sorrows were soon forgotten if their conquerors provided some
pageant to amuse them. A circus procession of buffoons, with
dromedaries, elephants, sham giants, and pasteboard whales and
dragons, seems to have consoled them for all their misery.

CHAPTER IX

THE STORY OF ST. EVERMAIRE: A COUNTRY PAGEANT

Once upon a time there was a good man called St. Evermaire, who went
on a pilgrimage to a part of Belgium called the Hesbaye, which is near
the River Meuse. As he and his companions were journeying along, they
came, when it was growing dark one evening, to a great wood. Being
afraid of losing their way, they went to a village to ask for shelter.
This village belonged to a fierce robber, called Hacco, and it was at
his door that the pilgrims knocked. The door was opened by Hacco's
wife, who received them kindly, but told them that her husband was a
robber, and that, though he was away from home, it would not be safe
for them to remain there long. So very early next morning, as soon as
it w