e Belgians with
the true schipperke spirit. She was shaking her fist at a dam which
was about to burst in a flood.

It was strange to an American, who comes from a land where
everyone learns a single language, English, that she and her
ancestors, through centuries of living neighbour in a thickly-populated
country to people who speak French and to French civilization,
should never have learned to express themselves in any but their
own tongue--singular, almost incredible, tenacity in the age of popular
education! She would save the lance-heads and garner every grain
of wheat; she economized in all but racial animosity. This racial
stubbornness of Europe--perhaps it keeps Europe powerful in jealous
competition of race with race.

The thought that went home was that she did not want the Germans
to come; no Belgian wanted them; and this was the fact decisive in
the scales of justice. She said, as the officer had said, that the
Germans were "out there." Across the fields one saw nothing on that
still August day; no sign of war unless a Taube overhead, the first
enemy aeroplane I had seen in war. For the last two days the
German patrols had ceased to come. Liege, we knew, had fallen.
Looking at the map, we prayed that Namur would hold.

"Out there" beyond the quiet fields, that mighty force which was to
swing through Belgium in flank was massed and ready to move when
the German Staff opened the throttle. A mile or so away a patrol of
Belgian cyclists stopped us as we turned toward Brussels. They were
dust-covered and weary; the voice of their captain was faint with
fatigue. For over two weeks he had been on the hunt of Uhlan
patrols. Another schipperke he, who could not only hate but fight
as best he knew how.

"We had an alarm," he said. "Have you heard anything?"

When we told him no, he pedalled on more slowly, and oh, how
wearily! to the front. Rather pitiful that, too, when you thought of what
was "out there."

One had learned enough to know, without the confidential information
that he received, that the Germans could take Brussels if they chose.
But the people of Brussels still thronged the streets under the
blankets of bunting. If bunting could save Brussels, it was in no
danger.

There was a mockery about my dinner that night. The waiter who laid
the white cloth on a marble table was unctuously suggestive as to
menu. Luscious grapes and crisp salad, which Belgian gardeners
grow with meticulous care, I rem