"Come on, kids, it's time for the communiqué," he called to a couple of smaller boys who were playing on the opposite curb. The children addressed (one may have been five, the other seven, or thereabouts) immediately abandoned their marbles, and hastened to join their companion, who breathlessly unfolded the sheet.
"Artillery combats in Flanders——" he commenced.
The little fellows opened their big candid eyes, their faces were drawn and grave, in an intense effort of attention. Their mouths gaped unconsciously. One felt their desire to understand, to grasp things that were completely out of reach.
"During the night a spirited attack with hand grenades in the region of the Four de Paris," continued the reader. "We progressed slightly to the East of Mort Homme, and took an element of trenches. We captured two machine guns, and made several prisoners."
"My papa's in Alsace," piped one listener.
"And mine's in the Somme."
"That's all right," inferred the elder. "Isn't mine at Verdun?" and then proudly, "And machine gunner at that!"
Then folding his paper and preparing to move on:
"The news is good—we should worry."
Yes, that's what the little ones understood best of all, "the news is good," and a wonderful, broad, angelic smile spread out over their fresh baby faces; a smile so bewitching that I couldn't resist embracing them—much to their surprise.