When I awoke, my uncle was already waiting for me. He was an old officer and adhered to military time only. "We must be off!" he said in his gruff, harsh voice. "You must go back to work, my lad." Must I go away again? Why this week's separation? What did my uncle's authoritative tone mean in my father's house, in _our_ house? Why did Yana look at him respectfully but sullenly? I did not guess the horrible but absolute necessity for this intrusion; it exasperated me. What a bitter leave-taking! And that, too, for a week's separation only. It was in vain that my uncle made fun of our tears. I clung to my beloved father, and he had not the strength to repel me. The impatient officer tore me at last from his embrace. "The train does not wait!" he grumbled. "Were there ever such chicken-hearted people!" I was indignant. "No, not at parting from you," I said to my unsympathetic relation,... "but from him!" "Djodgy! Djodgy!" my father tried to say in a tone of reproach. "Forgive him, Henry.... Au revoir! In a week's time!... Be good ever." This time Yana no longer tried to hide her tears. Lion moved sadly from one to another, and his human eyes appeared to say, "Stay with him." But nothing would move my obdurate uncle. We drove away in the same carriage which had taken us the day before to S'Gravenwezel. We waved to one another as long as the carriage was in the street. In a week I should see him again! In a week he was dead! But I have forgotten nothing. Thus it is, ever since then, that I love, I adore this Flemish country as my heritage from him who loved it above all others; from him, the sole human being who never wrought me any ill. These vast pale-blue horizons, often veiled with mist or fog, gleam before me again as that tearful smile which I caught for the last time upon his dear face. KORS DAVIE From 'The Massacre of the Innocents, and Other Tales by Belgian Writers': copyrighted 1895, by Stone & Kimball It was fair-time, yet Rika Let, the young dairymaid of _baes_ Verhulst, was sad. She had worked so hard all August that this morning, before mass, the _baezine_ had given her a bright florin and spoken kindly to her:-- "Rika, it is fair-time for every one. Enjoy yourself, my girl. Here is something to buy yourself a neckerchief at the fair, a bright-colored one with fringe to cross over your breast."... Rika accepted her mistress's present. Alone in her garret above the stable, she turned the shining coin over and over, but hesitated to exchange it for some coveted trifle at Suske Derk's stall, down there by the church. Great tears sprang to her eyes, eyes which were faintly tinged with green. What sorrow filled the heart of this fair young girl of eighteen summers?