A chorus of assent greeted him. Not a voice was missing.
"Hear me, then," the old patriot declared, straightening up from his desk. "As boys of Belgium, born and reared on Belgian soil; as boys of Belgium, sons of a land that has never known dishonor; as boys of Belgium, who have worked with me in this little village school of Beaufays together, I trust you. If any one of you fails in that trust, let the rest see to it!"
"We will, sir," they answered.
"I go to defend Belgium," said the master, "but I leave behind me a greater teacher than myself. That teacher is a boy's sense of honor."
He took a thumb-tack from a drawer of his desk and fastened the placard to the upper part of his chair.
It bore the one word:
PATRIE
"There is your master," he said. "School will meet daily, as usual, until the end of the term. My chair is not empty while that word stands there. Let no one be absent. Let none neglect his work. Let the older lads help the younger. As for your conduct, as for your work—I have your word of honor. Your Fatherland! Your Home-land! Your Belgium! There is no more to say."
In the great stillness that followed these words, the roar of the cannon was clearly heard in the distance.
"The guns, again!" said the master. "School is dismissed until to-morrow."