Presently a loud clattering of sabots; the schools are out, 'round the corner they stream at full speed, twenty abreast, little chaps from eight to twelve, their pink faces aglow, their capes streaming in the wind, a tricolor grasped in red fists, bobbing in front line. Dear little chaps, each has lost someone—a brother or a father—one's eyes fill with tears of relief of what they have escaped, these little citizens of the future, they at least can grow to the fulness of manhood without a dreadful menace hanging over them. The world is safe for them. [Illustration] The clock points to 3. Suddenly a great peal of bells rings out on the sunny November air; louder and louder the sound reverberates over the autumn trees and far out to sea, loud and clear and joyous, carrying the glorious news over land and water to the hearts of the waiting people. Ah! ring, bells of France! Ring out over all this beautiful martyred land, over towns and villages, over country, river, sea. Messengers of God, bringing joy and hope. Ring in long, swelling notes, full of harmony and Peace. Bring to all who listen the certitude of victory; the knowledge that the vast sacrifices have not been in vain; that Peace soon will spread her healing breath over this sore-tried nation. As the carillons ring, a shout bursts out, people weep, laugh, embrace each other. They sob and cheer in the same breath, all hearts united in one over-whelming wave of gratitude and thanksgiving. Then a slow booming from the cannon at Saint-Malo sounds across the water—only a few days ago what fears it would have caused—but today, thrice blessed guns! The doughboys raise a terrific shouting; some whistle, shriek, cat-call; tin pans are banged as cymbals; a procession is formed, French and Belgians with their flags in front, singing the "Marseillaise," then the Yanks, cheering and dancing arm in arm, thirty abreast, zigzaging down the boulevard. I ran out with some thirty small national flags, and in a second they were whipped out of my arms and went careering away over the heads of the shouting men. The procession swept on, catching up bystanders; infirmières had flags thrust at them, and joined the ranks, their white veils and dresses gleaming ahead; some of the Americans picked up the tiny children, carrying them shoulder high, the kiddies clutching them in a stranglehold, their necks craning to see their mothers and sisters running along the sidewalk near them.