ll the village gathered in front of the little town-hall.
On its steps stood the Burgomeister and the village priest, and near
them, still sitting astride his foam-flecked steed, was one of the
soldiers who had brought the alarm. His two companions were already far
beyond Meer, flying over the road to arouse the villages which lay
farther to the east. The church-bell suddenly ceased its metallic
clatter, and while its deep tones still throbbed through the night air,
the wondering and frightened people crowded about the steps in
breathless suspense.

The Burgomeister raised his hand. Even in the moonlight it could be
seen that he was pale. He spoke quickly. "Neighbors," he said, "there
is bad news! the German army is on our borders! It is necessary for
every man of military age and training to join the colors at once in
case the army is needed for defense. There is not a moment to lose.
This messenger is from headquarters. He will tell you what you are to
do."

The soldier now spoke for the first time. "Men of Belgium," he cried,
"your services are needed for your country and your King! The men of
Meer are to report at once to the army headquarters at Malines. Do not
stop even to change your clothing! We are not yet at war, and our good
King Albert still hopes to avert it by an armed peace, but the
neutrality of Belgium is at stake, and we must be ready to protect it
at any cost, and at an instant's notice. Go at once to the Brussels
gate of Malines. An officer will meet you there and tell you what to
do. I must ride on to carry the alarm to Putte." He wheeled his horse
as he spoke, and, turning in his saddle, lifted his sword and cried,
"Vive le Roi!"

"Vive le Roi! Vive la Belgique!" came in an answering shout from the
people of Meer, and he was gone.

There was a moment of stunned silence as he rode away; then a sound of
women weeping. The Burgomeister came down from the steps of the
town-hall, said farewell to his wife and children, and took his place
at the head of the little group of men which was already beginning form
in marching order. The priest moved about among his people with words
of comfort.

Father Van Hove turned to his wife, and to Jan and Marie, who were
clinging to her skirts. "It is only a bad dream, my little ones," he
said, patting their heads tenderly; "we shall wake up some day. And
you, my wife, do not despair! I shall soon return, no doubt! Our good
King will yet save us from war. You mu