“I am glad to see you again, young messieurs,” he said, simply. “I wondered much what had become of you, and prayed that you had escaped the terrible shells that seemed to cover every mile of territory around this poor village.”
Amos was conscious of a feeling of amazement. He marveled greatly that the good old man could spare even one thought for them, when he himself was face to face with so overpowering a peril. It certainly spoke well for his heart. No wonder then that those who had lived in that place had made him their burgomaster. In Belgium that name stands not only for Mayor, but father to the entire community, with an eye single to the welfare of the “children” entrusted to his care.
“We are glad, too, on finding that you escaped when so many must have been killed or injured here, even while hidden in cellars,” Jack told him.
The burgomaster shook his white head dismally. There was an expression of woe on his face, but in spite of all Jack could detect the gleam of an unconquered spirit in those unflinching eyes. The Kaiser might overrun Belgium with his soldiers, and hold every foot of soil, but he would never be able to crush the independence of soul that has always been the common heritage of every Belgian.
“It has been a terrible calamity,” he said, simply. “We bow our heads before the storm, even as the trees do when the wind blows, and the thunder rolls. But after it is all over they raise their crests again. So, too, young messieurs, will Belgium rise from the ruins of her cities and towns to become greater than before.”
How proudly he said that. Amos would never forget the exalted look on the seamed face of the old burgomaster. Somehow he found it in his heart to believe every word of that prophecy must in the course of time come true.
“These wounded persons, did they get their injuries while down in the cellar? Was it a shell that exploded there to scatter death around?” Jack asked, nodding toward the group hovering around the blankets on the floor, upon which those forms were stretched.
“Heaven was merciful in that nothing like that came upon us,” the old man hastened to inform him. “They received their hurts outside, as did others who are now being cared for amidst the ruins of our poor houses, by some of those who remained with me in shelter.”
“And how about little Jacques?” asked Amos, unable to hold his curiosity in check any longer.
The burgomaster allowed his grim features to relax for a brief moment in what was almost a smile; though with so much suffering around him it sat strangely upon his face. He nodded his head several times as he went on to say: