h to the highway once more. Although they found the road still
filled with the flying refugees, the world had grown suddenly brighter
to Jan and Marie. They had found a friend and they were fed.

"Now, you come along home with your Granny," said the little old woman
as they reached the Antwerp road and turned northward, "for I live in a
little house by the river right on the way to wherever you want to go!"

IX

OFF FOR ANTWERP

For several days the children stayed with the little old woman in her
tiny cottage on the edge of the river. Each morning they crossed the
bridge and stationed themselves by the Antwerp road to watch the swarm
of sad-faced Belgians as they hurried through Boom on their way to the
frontier and to safety in Holland. Each day they hoped that before the
sun went down they should see their mother among the hurrying
multitudes, but each day brought a fresh disappointment, and each night
the little old woman comforted them with fresh hope for the morrow.

"You see, my darlings," said she, "it may take a long time and you may
have to go a long way first, but I feel in my bones that you will find
her at last. And of course, if you do, every step you take is a step
toward her, no matter how far round you go."

Jan and Marie believed every word that Granny said. How could they help
it when she had been so good to them! Her courage and faith seemed to
make an isle of safety about her where the children rested in perfect
trust. They saw that neither guns nor Germans nor any other terror
could frighten Granny. In the midst of a thousand alarms she calmly
went her accustomed way, and every one who met her was the better for a
glimpse of the brave little brown face under its snowy cap. Early each
morning she rose with the larks, covered the bottom of her barrow with
clean white sand, and placed in it the live eels which had been caught
for her and brought to the door by small boys who lived in the
neighborhood. Then, when she had wakened the Twins, and the three had
had their breakfast together, away she would trudge over the long,
dusty road to Malines, wheeling the barrow with its squirming freight
in front of her.

Jan and Marie helped her all they could. They washed the dishes and
swept the floor of the tiny cottage and made everything tidy and clean
before they went to take up their stand beside the Antwerp road. When
the shadows grew long in the afternoon, how glad they were to see the
sturdy