produced it from another lad's pocket. That did
it. In two seconds I had a hundred children round me roaring at me.
An Austrian lady explained that they were calling me a magician and
asking for more. I blushingly told her to explain to them that it was
my only trick. Sighs of disgust followed, and I was on the point of
losing my popularity when I hastily got the lady to explain to them
that I had a better talent . . . I could make anyone laugh merely by
looking at him. Fifty of them at once challenged me to begin, and I
had a great time. One lad beat me, but then he had toothache, a
blistered heel, and was homesick.

After a time I asked them to sing to me, and they sang sweet folk songs
of their home. They were delightful singers, and the boys sang as
eagerly and as well as the girls. In England boys usually hate
singing. I marvelled at their all knowing the same songs, and one of
the girls explained to me that in Austria every school has the same
songs; more than that, every school has the same class-books, and if
two children living a hundred miles apart meet on the street they can
say to each other: "I'm at page 67 of my Geography. What page are you
at?"

They demanded a song from me, and I sang _Now is the Month of Maying_,
and, by special request, _Tipperary_. Then I asked them to sing their
National Anthem, and the lady began it, but the children did not follow
her. At my look of surprise the lady said: "They cannot sing it
because now they feel that they have no Austria left to sing about."

A man's voice sounded from inside the building, and they rushed
indoors, for it was the voice of their beloved Ministry of Health
doctor, who had brought them from Vienna, and they all loved him. They
forgot me at once and left me . . . all but one. Little Hansi put her
wee hand in mine and snuggled closer . . . and that's why I love her so
very much.

On Tuesday morning they all took up their packs, and we set off for
England via the Maas boat and station. We packed into carriages and
set off. There was no water on the train, but we laughed and said:
"We'll be in Flushing in two hours! We are a special!" We were. We
left the Maas station at one o'clock, and we travelled until three.
Then we drew up . . . and found we were back at the Maas station.
Where we had been I don't know, but it was the biggest mystery of my
life. Well, we crawled along past picturesque villages where women
with white caps