"Ah, let us hope that he will always be a little child of peace." But in another moment she is playing with him, chucking him under the chin. "_Tiens, mon coco! Viens, mon petit soldat_--you must grow up strong and big, for you are another little soldier for France." Little Vauchelles, far away in the hills of the fertile Oise, I think of you. I hope I may again visit you. And I wonder. What ripples from the seething capitals will stir the placid thoughts of your stouthearted peasants? And will your broad-browed women wait with age-old resignation for the next wave of war, or will they catch the echo that is rebounding through all the valleys of the world and join their voices in the swelling chord for brotherhood? In your midst, where the three roads meet, still stands the image of Christ on the Cross. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Where the Sabots Clatter Again by Katherine Shortall