"No," said Kernel Cob, for a soldier must bear pain without complaint and pretend he isn't hurt even if he is.
And a number of people who were working in the fields ran out to see what had happened, and you may be sure that they were surprised to see these strange dolls. And they spoke a strange language which neither Kernel Cob nor Sweetclover could make out.
"I wonder where we are," said Sweetclover, "and who these people can be?"
"They're very funny," laughed Kernel Cob, "I never saw shoes like those before. They look like boats."
"They're made of wood," said Sweetclover.
And just then a little Dutch girl—for you have guessed that they were in Holland—came over and picked them up and carried them off into her house.
And little Antje, for that was her name, played with them all day, and, when night was come, she put them to sleep in a chair before the fireplace where it was nice and warm and cosy.
And, in the middle of the night, a cricket came out on the hearth stone and began to chirp.
"Chirp, chirp, chirp," sang the cricket, and Kernel Cob woke up and rubbed his eyes and listened.
"Hello, Mister Cricket," shouted Kernel Cob peering over the side of the chair.