"I go to defend Belgium," said the master, "but I leave behind me a greater teacher than myself. That teacher is a boy's sense of honor." He took a thumb-tack from a drawer of his desk and fastened the placard to the upper part of his chair. It bore the one word: PATRIE "There is your master," he said. "School will meet daily, as usual, until the end of the term. My chair is not empty while that word stands there. Let no one be absent. Let none neglect his work. Let the older lads help the younger. As for your conduct, as for your work--I have your word of honor. Your Fatherland! Your Home-land! Your Belgium! There is no more to say." In the great stillness that followed these words, the roar of the cannon was clearly heard in the distance. "The guns, again!" said the master. "School is dismissed until to-morrow." The boys filed out silently, despite their excitement, but, once outside, a babel of questions and exclamations arose. Deschamps' voice was heard above the rest. "I know how to handle a rifle, sir!" he said, with eager determination. The old reservist looked sharply at the lad. "You have not had your military service, yet," he said. "I could volunteer," the boy responded. "You said, sir, yesterday, that if there were an invasion, volunteers would be needed." "Your mother--" the old patriot began, but Deschamps interrupted him. "Mother is a Belgian, sir," he said. "She'll understand." "I was counting on your example in the school," objected the master. The lad shook his head confidently. "There's no need of me, sir," he replied. "The fellows will all play square." "I hope so," said the master, thoughtfully. Then, knotting his forehead, he asked, "Who is next in rank after you? Monroe, is he not?" "Yes, sir," put in the boy named, "I'm next in place." "That's what I thought. Let me think. You were not born in Belgium, Monroe, were you?" "No, sir," responded Horace, "I'm an American." The master pondered a moment. "You have no part, then, in this war," he said slowly. Horace flushed at the implication. "I gave my word of honor with the others, sir," he said. "You don't think, sir, that means any less to an American boy!" The master nodded in satisfaction at the retort. "I beg your pardon," he replied, as though speaking to an equal, "I am satisfied." He locked the school door and gave the key to Horace. "Come with me to the house, Monroe," he added. "I want to give you some final instructions." "Very well, sir," Horace replied. "Deschamps," the master continued, turning to the head boy, "if you are really in earnest about volunteering, you had better go home at once and talk the matter over with your parents. I will call at your house on my way through the village. If your father and mother agree, you may accompany me." "Oh, I'll persuade them to let me go!" announced the lad with assurance. "And your ambitions to become an artist?" queried his old teacher.