uises. He can't be induced to stay in bed."

"Bed, when the Germans come?" exclaimed the invalid, scornfully,
speaking in fair English. "It is absurd! We can sleep when we have
driven them back to their dirty Faderland--we can sleep, then, and rest.
Now, it is a crime to rest."

They looked at him curiously. He was a small man--almost a tiny
man--lean and sinewy and with cheeks the color of bronze and eyes the
hue of the sky. His head was quite bald at the top; his face wrinkled;
he had a bushy mustache and a half-grown beard. His clothing was soiled,
torn and neglected; but perhaps his accident accounted for much of its
condition. His age might be anywhere from thirty to forty years. He
looked alert and shrewd.

"You are Belgian?" said Uncle John.

He leaned against the rail, shaking off the doctor's support, as he
replied:

"Yes, monsieur. Belgian born and American trained." There was a touch of
pride in his voice. "It was in America that I made my fortune."

"Indeed."

"It is true. I was waiter in a New York restaurant for five years. Then
I retired. I came back to Belgium. I married my wife. I bought land. It
is near Ghent. I am, as you have guessed, a person of great importance."

"Ah; an officer, perhaps. Civil, or military?" inquired Ajo with mock
deference.

"Of better rank than either. I am a citizen."

"Now, I like that spirit," said Uncle John approvingly. "What is your
name, my good man?"

"Maurie, monsieur; Jakob Maurie. Perhaps you have met me--in New York."

"I do not remember it. But if you live in Ghent, why are you in
Dunkirk?"

He cast an indignant glance at his questioner, but Uncle John's serene
expression disarmed him.

"Monsieur is not here long?"

"We have just arrived."

"You cannot see Belgium from here. If you are there--in my country--you
will find that the German is everywhere. I have my home at Brussels
crushed by a shell which killed my baby girl. My land is devastate--my
crop is taken to feed German horse and German thief. There is no home
left. So my wife and my boy and girl I take away; I take them to Ostend,
where I hope to get ship to England. At Ostend I am arrested by Germans.
Not my wife and children; only myself. I am put in prison. For three
weeks they keep me, and then I am put out. They push me into the street.
No one apologize. I ask for my family. They laugh and turn away. I
search everywhere for my wife. A friend whom I meet thinks she has gone
to Ypres