“The mothers of little children wept with joy and blest you, as they went to get their good, light bread.” One little girl wrote: “When on the 5th of May, 1915, maman returned with the new bread, and we all ran to taste it, we found it good. The bread we had been eating long months had been dark and moist. Further, rice had been our daily food. It is without doubt to show your gratitude to the French, who went to drive the English away from you in 1783, that you have thought to soften our suffering. Merci! Merci! Many died because of that bad bread, and many more should have died, had you not come to our aid with the good bread.” Another little girl writes: “If ever in the future America is in need, France will not forget the good she has done and will reach a hospitable hand to her second country, who has saved her unhappy children. It is you who have made it possible for all mothers to give bread to their children. Without the rice and beans, what would have become of us! You have helped us to have coal and warm clothing against the cold. In the name of all the mothers we thank you, and all the little children send you a great kiss of thanks.” The babies had all finished their cocoa and buns, so I went to the Girls’ Technical Training School in the neighborhood. It was having a particularly hard time because of the lack of materials and of opportunity to sell the articles made by the children. But two wonderful women—one the director, the other the art teacher—were courageously fighting to keep things going. The pupils are largely from poor families. When they were going through the beautiful figures of their gymnasium exercise for me, I saw that the bloomers were mostly made of odds and ends of cloth. The shoes, too, quickly told the tale—all sorts of substitutes for leather, patched woolen shoes or slippers, wooden soles with cloth tops, clogs. In the room for design I was greeted with most cordial smiles as Madame introduced me as her friend from America, the country which meant hope to them. Then happened swiftly one of the things it is difficult to prevent—the shouting in one breath of “Vive le Roi!” and “Vive l’Amérique!” Who would doubt that a good part of the joy of shouting “Vive l’Amérique” comes from the opportunity it gives them to couple with it the cry of their hearts, “Vive la Belgique!” By the time we returned to her bureau, Madame trusted me entirely, and explained that this was the center of a kind of “Assistance Discrète” she had established for her girls and their families. She opened several cabinets, and showed me what they had made to help one another. Certain women have been contributing materials—old garments, bits of cloth, trimming for hats, all of which have been employed to extraordinary advantage. What struck me most were the attractive little babies’ shirts, made from the upper parts of worn stockings.