Perhaps he considered it beneath his dignity to run after them, and perhaps he saw that Jan and Marie could both run like the wind and he would not be likely to catch them if he did.At any rate, he did not follow.He picked himself up and dusted his clothes, using very bad language as he did so, and followed the officer and his companions up the street.
Meanwhile the tired children ran on and on, fear lending speed to their weary legs.Round behind the great cathedral they sped, hoping to find some way of escape from the terrors of the town, but their way was blocked by the smoking ruins of a section of the city which the Germans had burned in the night, and there was no way to get out in that direction.Terrified and faint with hunger, they turned once more, and, not knowing where they were going, stumbled at last upon the street which led to the Antwerp gate.
"I remember this place;" cried Jan, with something like joy in his voice."Don't you remember, Marie? It's where we stood to watch the soldiers, and Mother sang for us to march, because we were so tired and hungry.""I'm tired and hungry now, too," said poor Marie.
"Let's march again," said Jan.
"Where to?" said Marie.
"That's the way Father went when he marched away with the soldiers," said Jan, pointing to the Antwerp gate."Anything is better than staying here.Let's go that way." He started bravely forward once more, Marie and Fidel following.
They found themselves only two wretched atoms in one of the saddest processions in history, for there were many other people, as unhappy as themselves, who were also trying to escape from the city.Some had lived in the section which was now burning; others had been turned out of their homes by the Germans; and all were hastening along, carrying babies and bundles, and followed by groups of older children.
Jan and Marie were swept along with the hurrying crowd, through the city gate and beyond, along the river road which led to Antwerp.No one spoke to them.Doubtless they were supposed to belong to some one of the fleeing families, and it was at least comforting to the children to be near people of whom they were not afraid.But Jan and Marie could not keep pace with the swift-moving crowd of refugees.They trudged along the highway at their best speed, only to find themselves straggling farther and farther behind.
They were half a mile or more beyond the city gate when they overtook a queer little old woman who was plodding steadily along wheeling a wheelbarrow, in front of her.She evidently did not belong among the refugees, for she was making no effort to keep up with them.She had bright, twinkling black eyes, and snow-white hair tucked under a snow-white cap.Her face was as brown as a nut and full of wrinkles, but it shone with such kindness and good-will that, when Jan and Marie had taken one look at her, they could not help walking along by her side.
"Maybe she has seen Mother," whispered Marie to Jan."Let's ask her!"The little old woman smiled down at them as they joined her.
"You'll have to hurry, my dears, or you won't keep up with your folks," she said kindly.
"They aren't our folks," said Jan.
"They aren't?" said the little old woman, stopping short."Then where are your folks?""We haven't any, not just now," said Jan."You see our father is a soldier, and our mother, oh, have you seen our mother? She's lost!"The little old woman gave them a quick, pitying glance."Lost, is she?" she said."Well, now, I can't just be sure whether I've seen her or not, not knowing what she looks like, but I wouldn't say I haven't.Lots of folks have passed this way.How did she get lost?" She sat down on the edge of the barrow and drew the children to her side."Come, now," she said, "tell Granny all about it! I've seen more trouble than any one you ever saw in all your life before, and I'm not a mite afraid of it either."Comforted already, the children poured forth their story.
"You poor little lambs!" she cried, when they had finished, "and you haven't had a bite to eat since yesterday! Mercy on us! You can never find your mother on an empty stomach!" She rose from the wheelbarrow, as she spoke, and trundled it swiftly from the road to the bank of the river, a short distance away.Here, in a sheltered nook, hidden from the highway by a group of willows, she stopped."We'll camp right here, and I'll get you a dinner fit for a king or a duke, at the very least," she said cheerily.
