and peaceful region, and got to be
good-sized boys and girls--big enough, in fact, to begin to know as much
about the wars raging perpetually to the west and north of us as our
elders, and also to feel as stirred up over the occasional news from
these red fields as they did. I remember certain of these days very
clearly. One Tuesday a crowd of us were romping and singing around the
Fairy Tree, and hanging garlands on it in memory of our lost little
fairy friends, when Little Mengette cried out:

"Look! What is that?"

When one exclaims like that in a way that shows astonishment and
apprehension, he gets attention. All the panting breasts and flushed
faces flocked together, and all the eager eyes were turned in one
direction--down the slope, toward the village.

"It's a black flag."

"A black flag! No--is it?"

"You can see for yourself that it is nothing else."

"It is a black flag, sure! Now, has any ever seen the like of that
before?"

"What can it mean?"

"Mean? It means something dreadful--what else?"

"That is nothing to the point; anybody knows that without the telling.
But what?--that is the question."

"It is a chance that he that bears it can answer as well as any that are
here, if you contain yourself till he comes."

"He runs well. Who is it?"

Some named one, some another; but presently all saw that it was Etienne
Roze, called the Sunflower, because he had yellow hair and a round
pock-marked face. His ancestors had been Germans some centuries ago.
He came straining up the slope, now and then projecting his flag-stick
aloft and giving his black symbol of woe a wave in the air, whilst all
eyes watched him, all tongues discussed him, and every heart beat faster
and faster with impatience to know his news. At last he sprang among us,
and struck his flag-stick into the ground, saying:

"There! Stand there and represent France while I get my breath. She
needs no other flag now."

All the giddy chatter stopped. It was as if one had announced a death.
In that chilly hush there was no sound audible but the panting of the
breath-blown boy. When he was presently able to speak, he said:

"Black news is come. A treaty has been made at Troyes between France
and the English and Burgundians. By it France is betrayed and delivered
over, tied hand and foot, to the enemy. It is the work of the Duke of
Burgundy and that she-devil, the Queen of France. It marries Henry of
England to Catharine of France--"