But he could not be persuaded. The mother understood that love and a sense of duty held him. She gathered the baby in her arms and tried to rise, but the overtaxed heart failed, and she fell back half-fainting. The boy brought water and bathed her head until the tired eyes opened.
“Little son, it will kill mother if you don’t go.”
The boy’s shoulders shook. He knelt by the bed. A sob broke from him. Then there came the faint, far-distant call of the bugle. Frantically the mother gathered up her baby and held it out to the boy.
“For mother’s sake, son, for mother.”
In a flash the boy understood. His mother had risked her life for the tiny sister. She wanted the baby saved more than anything else in the world. He dashed the tears from his eyes. He wound his arms about his mother in a long, passionate embrace.
“I’ll take her, mother; I’ll get her there safely.”
The bugle grew louder. Through the open window on the far-distant road could be seen a cloud of dust. There was not a moment to lose. Stooping, the boy caught up the red, squirming baby. Very tenderly he placed the little body against his breast and buttoned his coat over his burden.
The sound of marching feet could now be heard. Swiftly he ran to the door. As he reached the threshold he turned. His mother, her eyes shining with love and hope, was waving a last good-by. Down the stairs, out of the back door, and across the fields sped the child. Over grass and across streams flew the sure little feet. His heart tugged fiercely to go back, but that look in his mother’s face sustained him.
He knew the road to Holland. It was straight to the north; but he kept to the fields. He didn’t want the baby discovered. Mile after mile, through hour after hour, he pushed on, until twilight came. He found a little spring and drank thirstily. Then he moistened the baby’s mouth. The little creature was very good. Occasionally she uttered a feeble cry, but most of the time she slept. The boy was intensely weary. His feet ached. He sat down under a great tree and leaned against it. Was it right to keep a baby out all night? Ought he to go to some farmhouse? If he did, would the people take baby away? His mother had said, “Run straight to Holland.” But Holland was twenty miles away. He opened his coat and looked at the tiny creature. She slept peacefully.
The night was very warm. He decided to remain where he was. It had grown dark. The trees and bushes loomed big. His heart beat quickly. He was glad of the warm, soft, live little creature in his arms. He had come on this journey for his mother, but suddenly his boy’s heart opened to the tiny, clinging thing at his breast. His little hand stroked the baby tenderly. Then he stooped, and softly his lips touched the red, wrinkled face. Presently his little body relaxed, and he slept. He had walked eight miles. Through the long night the deep sleep of exhaustion held him. He lay quite motionless, head and shoulders resting against the tree-trunk, and the new-born babe enveloped in the warmth of his body and arms slept also. The feeble cry of the child woke him. The sun was coming over the horizon and the air was alive with the twitter of birds.