Produced by Lynn Hill. Dedicated to Betty Sheridan. HTMLversion by Al Haines.
THE BELGIAN TWINS
By
Lucy Fitch Perkins
Geographical Series
THE DUTCH TWINS PRIMER. Grade I. THE DUTCH TWINS. Grade III. THE ESKIMO TWINS. Grade II. THE FILIPINO TWINS. Grade IV. THE JAPANESE TWINS. Grade IV. THE SWISS TWINS. Grade IV. THE IRISH TWINS. Grade V. THE ITALIAN TWINS. Grades V and VI. THE SCOTCH TWINS. Grades V and VI. THE MEXICAN TWINS. Grade VI. THE BELGIAN TWINS. Grade VI. THE FRENCH TWINS. Grade VII.
Historical Series
THE CAVE TWINS. Grade IV. THE SPARTAN TWINS. Grades V-VI. THE PURITAN TWINS. Grades VI-VII.
To the friends of Belgian Children--
PREFACE
In this sad hour of the world's history, when so many homes have beenbroken up, and so many hearts burdened with heavy sorrows, it iscomforting to think of the many heroic souls who, throughout thestruggle, have gone about their daily tasks with unfailing courage andcheerfulness, and by so doing have helped to carry the burdens of theworld, and to sustain other hearts as heavy as their own.
It is comforting, also, to know that there are many instances of happyreunions after long and unspeakable anxieties, adventures, and trials.
This story of two little Belgian refugees is based upon the actualexperience of two Belgian children, and the incident of the locket isquite true.
The characters of the eel-woman and the mother of the Twins have alsotheir living originals, from whose courage and devotion the author hasreceived much inspiration.
CONTENTS
I. THE HARVEST-FIELD II. THE RUMORS III. THE ALARM IV. "FOR KING, FOR LAW AND LIBERTY" V. DOING A MAN'S WORK VI. AT THE CHURCH VII. THE TIDAL WAVE OF GERMANS VIII. GRANNY AND THE EELS IX. OFF FOR ANTWERP X. ON THE TOW-PATH XI. THE ATTACK XII. THE ZEPPELIN RAID XIII. REFUGEES XIV. THE MOST WONDERFUL PART
THE BELGIAN TWINS
I
THE HARVEST-FIELD
It was late in the afternoon of a long summer's day in Belgium. FatherVan Hove was still at work in the harvest-field, though the sun hung solow in the west that his shadow, stretching far across the level, greenplain, reached almost to the little red-roofed house on the edge of thevillage which was its home. Another shadow, not so long, and quite alittle broader, stretched itself beside his, for Mother Van Hove wasalso in the field, helping her husband to load the golden sheaves uponan old blue farm-cart which stood near by.
Them were also two short, fat shadows which bobbed briskly about overthe green meadow as their owners danced among the wheat-sheaves orcarried handfuls of fresh grass to Pier, the patient white farm-horse,hitched to the cart. These gay shadows belonged to Jan and Marie,sometimes called by their parents Janke and Mie, for short. Jan andMarie were the twin son and daughter of Father and Mother Van Hove, andthough they were but eight years old, they were already quite used tohelping their father and mother with the work of their little farm.
They knew how to feed the chickens and hunt the eggs and lead Pier towater and pull weeds in the garden. In the spring they had even helpedsow the wheat and barley, and now in the late summer they were helpingto harvest the grain.
The children had been in the field since sunrise, but not all of thelong bright day had been given to labor. Early in the morning theirfather's pitchfork had uncovered a nest of field mice, and the Twinshad made another nest, as much like the first as possible, to put thehomeless field babies in, hoping that their mother would find themagain and resume her interrupted housekeeping.
Then they had played for a long time in the tiny canal which separatedthe wheat-field from the meadow, where Bel, their black and white cow,was pastured. There was also Fidel, the dog, their faithful companionand friend. The children had followed him on many an excursion amongthe willows along the river-bank, for Fidel might at any moment comeupon the rabbit or water rat which he was always seeking, and what apity it would be for Jan and Marie to miss a sight like that!
When the sun was high overhead, the whole family, and Fidel also, hadrested under a tree by the little river, and Jan and Marie had sharedwith their father and mother the bread and cheese which had beenbrought from home for their noon meal. Then they had taken a nap in theshade, for it is a long day that begins and ends with the midsummersun. The bees hummed so drowsily in the clover that Mother Van Hovealso took forty winks, while Father Van Hove led Pier to the river fora drink; and tied him where he could enjoy the rich meadow grass for awhile.
And now the long day was nearly over. The last level rays of thedisappearing sun glistened on the red roofs of the village, and thewindows of the little houses gave back an answering flash of light. Onthe steeple of the tiny church the gilded cross shone like fire againstthe gray of the eastern sky.
The village clock struck seven and was answered faintly by the sound ofdistant chimes from the Cathedral of Malines, miles away across theplain.
For some time Father Van Hove had been standing on top of the load,catching the sheaves which Mother Van Hove tossed up to him, andstowing them away in the farm-wagon, which was already heaped high withthe golden grain. As the clock struck, he paused in his labor, took offhis hat, and wiped his brow. He listened for a moment to the music ofthe bells, glanced at the western sky, already rosy with promise of thesunset, and at the weather-cock above the cross on the church-steeple.Then he looked down at the sheaves of wheat, still standing like tinytents across the field.
"It's no use, Mother," he said at last; "we cannot put it all into-night, but the sky gives promise of a fair day to-morrow, and theweather-cock, also, points east. We can finish in one more load; let usgo home now."
"The clock struck seven," cried Jan. "I counted the strokes."
"What a scholar is our Janke!" laughed his mother, as she lifted thelast sheaf of wheat on her fork and tossed it at Father Van Hove'sfeet. "He can count seven when it is supper-time! As for me, I do notneed a clock; I can tell the time of day by the ache in my bones; and,besides that, there is Bel at the pasture bars waiting to be milked andbellowing to call me."
"I don't need a clock either," chimed in Marie, patting her aprontenderly; "I can tell time by my stomach. It's a hundred years since weate our lunch; I know it is."
"Come, then, my starvelings," said Mother Van Hove, pinching Marie'sfat cheek, "and you shall save your strength by riding home on theload! Here, Ma mie, up you go!"
She swung Marie into the air as she spoke. Father Van Hove reached downfrom his perch on top of the load, caught her in his arms, andenthroned her upon the fragrant grain.
"And now it is your turn, my Janke!" cried Mother Van Hove, "and youshall 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 downto earth once more and took up the reins.
Fidel came back dripping wet from the river, shook himself, and fell inbehind the wagon. "U--U!" cried Father Van Hove to old Pier, and thelittle procession moved slowly up the cart-path toward the shiningwindows of their red-roofed house.
The home of the Van Hoves lay on the very outskirts of the littlehamlet of Meer. Beside it ran a yellow ribbon of road which stretchedacross the green plain clear to the city of Malines. As they turnedfrom the cart-path into the road, the old blue cart became part of alittle profession of similar wagons, for the other men of Meer werealso late in coming home to the village from their outlying farms.
"Good-evening, neighbor," cried Father Van Hove to Father Maes, whosehome lay beyond his in the village. "How are your crops coming on?"
"Never better," answered Father Maes; "I have more wheat to the acrethan ever before."
"So have I, thanks be to the good God;" answered Father Van Hove. "
Thewinter will find our barns full this year."
"Yes," replied Father Maes a little sadly; "that is, if we have no badluck, but Jules Verhulst was in the city yesterday and heard rumors ofa German army on our borders. It is very likely only an idle tale tofrighten the women and children, but Jules says there are men also whobelieve 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, andthe cart moved on.
Mother Van Hove, meanwhile, had hastened ahead of the cart to stir upthe kitchen fire and put the kettle on before the others should reachhome, and when Father Van Hove at last drove into the farmyard, she wasalready 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 letthe pot boil over! Jan, you may shut up the fowls; they have alreadygone to roost."
"And what shall I do, Mother?" laughed Father Van Hove.
"You," she called back, "you may unharness Pier and turn him out in thepasture for the night! And I'll wager I shall be back with a fullmilk-pail before you've even so much as fed the pig, let alone theother chores--men are so slow!" She waved her hand gayly anddisappeared behind the pasture bars, as she spoke.
"Hurry, now, my man," said Father Van Hove to Jan. "We must not letMother beat us! We will let the cart stand right there near the barn,and to-morrow we can store the grain away to make room for a new load.I will let you lead Pier to the pasture, while I feed the pig myself;by her squeals she is hungry enough to eat you up in one mouthful."
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