“They seem to be hovering over him in a strange way,” ventured Jack. “There’s a Belgian soldier holding his other hand, and two women doing what they can. Jacques doesn’t lack for friends, it seems. I wonder what it all means, and if he tried to carry out that foolish vow he made about getting revenge for his father’s death.” Just then it happened that the old burgomaster, who no longer had a village under his charge, looked around. He may have heard the murmur of their voices during some lull in the dreadful chaos of sounds that came from the front, rising and falling as the wind chanced to swerve. At sight of the two American boys his wrinkled face showed great pleasure. He immediately got up from his knees and hurried toward them, holding out his hand in warm welcome. “I am glad to see you again, young messieurs,” he said, simply. “I wondered much what had become of you, and prayed that you had escaped the terrible shells that seemed to cover every mile of territory around this poor village.” Amos was conscious of a feeling of amazement. He marveled greatly that the good old man could spare even one thought for them, when he himself was face to face with so overpowering a peril. It certainly spoke well for his heart. No wonder then that those who had lived in that place had made him their burgomaster. In Belgium that name stands not only for Mayor, but father to the entire community, with an eye single to the welfare of the “children” entrusted to his care. “We are glad, too, on finding that you escaped when so many must have been killed or injured here, even while hidden in cellars,” Jack told him. The burgomaster shook his white head dismally. There was an expression of woe on his face, but in spite of all Jack could detect the gleam of an unconquered spirit in those unflinching eyes. The Kaiser might overrun Belgium with his soldiers, and hold every foot of soil, but he would never be able to crush the independence of soul that has always been the common heritage of every Belgian. “It has been a terrible calamity,” he said, simply. “We bow our heads before the storm, even as the trees do when the wind blows, and the thunder rolls. But after it is all over they raise their crests again. So, too, young messieurs, will Belgium rise from the ruins of her cities and towns to become greater than before.” How proudly he said that. Amos would never forget the exalted look on the seamed face of the old burgomaster. Somehow he found it in his heart to believe every word of that prophecy must in the course of time come true. “These wounded persons, did they get their injuries while down in the cellar? Was it a shell that exploded there to scatter death around?” Jack asked, nodding toward the group hovering around the blankets on the floor, upon which those forms were stretched.