u shall save your strength by riding home on the
load! Here, Ma mie, up you go!"

She swung Marie into the air as she spoke. Father Van Hove reached down
from his perch on top of the load, caught her in his arms, and
enthroned her upon the fragrant grain.

"And now it is your turn, my Janke!" cried Mother Van Hove, "and you
shall ride on the back of old Pier like a soldier going to the wars!"
She lifted Jan to the horse's back, while Father Van Hove climbed down
to earth once more and took up the reins.

Fidel came back dripping wet from the river, shook himself, and fell in
behind the wagon. "U--U!" cried Father Van Hove to old Pier, and the
little procession moved slowly up the cart-path toward the shining
windows of their red-roofed house.

The home of the Van Hoves lay on the very outskirts of the little
hamlet of Meer. Beside it ran a yellow ribbon of road which stretched
across the green plain clear to the city of Malines. As they turned
from the cart-path into the road, the old blue cart became part of a
little profession of similar wagons, for the other men of Meer were
also late in coming home to the village from their outlying farms.

"Good-evening, neighbor," cried Father Van Hove to Father Maes, whose
home lay beyond his in the village. "How are your crops coming on?"

"Never better," answered Father Maes; "I have more wheat to the acre
than ever before."

"So have I, thanks be to the good God;" answered Father Van Hove. "The
winter will find our barns full this year."

"Yes," replied Father Maes a little sadly; "that is, if we have no bad
luck, but Jules Verhulst was in the city yesterday and heard rumors of
a German army on our borders. It is very likely only an idle tale to
frighten the women and children, but Jules says there are men also who
believe it."

"I shall believe nothing of the sort," said Father Van Hove stoutly.
"Are we not safe under the protection of our treaty? No, no, neighbor,
there's nothing to fear! Belgium is neutral ground."

"I hope you may be right," answered Father Maes, cracking his whip, and
the cart moved on.

Mother Van Hove, meanwhile, had hastened ahead of the cart to stir up
the kitchen fire and put the kettle on before the others should reach
home, and when Father Van Hove at last drove into the farmyard, she was
already on the way to the pasture bars with her milk-pail on her arm.
"Set the table for supper, ma Mie," she called back, "and do not let
the pot b