"I was hurrying home to get supper."

"Maes said there are rumors of a German army on our frontier," said
Father Van Hove.

His wife paused in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Who
brought that story to town?" she demanded.

"Jules Verhulst," answered her husband.

"Jules Verhulst!" sniffed Mother Van Hove with disdain. "He knows more
things that aren't so than any man in this village. I wouldn't believe
anything on his say-so! Besides, the whole world knows that all the
Powers have agreed that Belgium shall be neutral ground, and have bound
themselves solemnly to protect that neutrality. I learned that in
school, and so did you."

"Yes," sighed Father Van Hove. "I learned it too, and surely no nation
can have anything against us! We have given no one cause for complaint
that I know of."

"It's nonsense," said his wife with decision. "Belgium is safe enough
so far as that goes, but one certainly has to work hard here just to
make ends meet and get food for all the hungry mouths! They say it is
different in America; there you work less and get more, and are farther
away from meddlesome neighboring countries besides. I sometimes wish we
had gone there with my sister. She and her husband started with no more
than we have, and now they are rich--at least they were when I last
heard from them; but that was a long time ago," she finished.

"Well," said Father Van Hove, as he stood up and knocked the ashes from
his pipe, "it may be that they have more money and less work, but I've
lived here in this spot ever since I was born, and my father before me.
Somehow I feel I could never take root in any other soil. I'm content
with things as they are."

"So am I, for the matter of that," said Mother Van Hove cheerfully, as
she put Fidel outside and shut the door for the night. Then, taking the
candle from the chimney-piece once more, she led the way to the inner
room, where the twins were already soundly sleeping.

III

THE ALARM

For some time the little village of Meer slept quietly in the
moonlight. There was not a sound to break the stillness, except once
when Mother Van Hove's old rooster caught a glimpse of the waning moon
through the window of the chicken-house, and crowed lustily, thinking
it was the sun. The other roosters of the village, wiser than he, made
no response to his call, and in a moment he, too, returned to his
interrupted slumbers. But though there was as yet no sound to tell of
their