One of the first things they noticed as they drew near the cottage for which they were headed, was a small boy parading up and down bearing a Belgian flag proudly over his shoulder. He seemed a very determined-looking youngster, and Amos openly commented on his manifest patriotism, at which the old man shrugged his shoulders, and then remarked: “Of such material are the Belgian people composed. Like the Dutch they have never been conquered. They dared even to defy the Kaiser and his millions of fighting men. Belgium will rise again, and be a greater nation than ever.” “And the boy?” said Jack, deeply interested. “He is a wonderful child, whose brave father, Jean Larue, my cousin, fell fighting in defense of Antwerp. Little Jacques dreams of the day when he may strike a blow in memory of the father he loved. His mind is full of plans for trapping the hated Germans, if ever they come this way again, which Heaven forbid.” The boy stopped in his military walk to solemnly return the salute Jack gave him. His face was unusually grave and they could see that the horrors of war by which little Jacques had been surrounded had done much to make him older than his years. Everybody tried to be kind to the American boys, though it was little they could do after that late pinching winter. But they were given a small room with a bed in it, which apartment Jack imagined had been hastily evacuated by some of the kind old burgomaster’s relatives, now thrown upon his bounty. “What better could we ask than this?” Amos wanted to know, as he washed his face and hands in a convenient tin basin. “I’m not saying a word,” Jack told him. “Fact is I reckon we’re in clover, when you think of those poor ground hogs we saw yesterday wallowing in the mud of the trenches, and half frozen at that.” It was not long before they knew cooking was going on, and, being a pretty hungry pair of boys, they exchanged pleased glances as they sniffed the appetizing odors. The meal was limited, so far as variety went, but there seemed an abundance for all. Only the old burgomaster sat down with them, though there were a dozen women and children to be served later on under the hospitable roof. Upon making inquiry Jack learned that there was not a single able-bodied man left in the village. “All them are fighting alongside our beloved King Albert,” exclaimed the old man, proudly, “or else have already laid down their lives in defense of their country.” All these things made a deep impression on the two American boys. They wondered how much of the same kind of patriotism would be found over in their country should an occasion ever arise when hostile armies occupied the cities and towns of the republic. After sitting in their little room for an hour, where, by the dim light of a taper, Jack wrote an account of stirring things he had seen that day, Amos finally begged him to “close up shop” and go outside a while to take the air before turning in.