remark
to me. I resolved that I should pretend to be a fellow-countryman.

"Ja!" I said, and the answer seemed to satisfy him. He went on to say
other things, and when his facial expression seemed to demand an
affirmative I said "Ja!"

After a time he frowned as he said a sentence.

"Nay!" said I.

That did it. He became white with anger, and swore at me all the way
to Amersfoort. He had a fine command of language, too, and I was
extremely sorry that I could not understand it.

On the Saturday I set off on my return journey to Rotterdam, doing a
tour in American fashion of Leiden on the way. It was like going home,
for I liked Rotterdam. I think it was the gay paint on the barges that
attracted me so much.

On the Sunday morning the Austrian kiddies arrived, and my sight-seeing
ended.

XII.

The Austrian kiddies arrived at the Maas station on Sunday morning, and
the Dutch folk gave them a kindly welcome. The Rotterdam committee was
in charge, and I stood back because it was not my job. The kiddies
came tumbling out of the train with great relief, for they had
travelled for two nights. All had heavy rucksacks, many of them the
packs of their dead fathers and brothers.

My eye lit on little Hansi. She stood on the platform crying, and I
went forward to comfort her. Alas! I knew less German than I did
Dutch, and I knew not what she said; but one of the Austrian escort
told me that she had been homesick all the way. There is, however, a
universal language that all children understand, and I took wee Hansi
in my arms and cuddled her. The flow of tears stopped and she took
from a small basket slung to her neck a tiny naked doll. I included
Puppe in the cuddle, and Hansi smiled. A dear wee mite she was, very
very thin, with great big eyes that were sunken. Her tears did not
affect me, but when she smiled I found myself weeping, and I had to
blow my nose hard.

The four hundred and fifty-eight children were bundled across the road
to a ship, which took them in two parts across the Maas to the large
building used by the Cunard Line for emigrants. Many of them thought
they were on the way to England, and ten minutes later I found a wee
chap gazing round in wonder on the land of England.

"This aint England, anywye," he said at last in evident disgust; "look
at them clogs! This is Holland."

The boy was a Londoner resident in Vienna. There were about a dozen
English children in the party.