"THANK YOU, BUT I DO NOT NEED YOUR ADVICE," HE SAID"THANK YOU, BUT I DO NOT NEED YOUR ADVICE," HE SAID
Philippe watched him as he began to throw his vegetables into a barrel and prepare to leave. He whistled as he did so.
Philippe lifted Rose from the counter andthey, too, made preparations for departure.
All the way home, the boy seemed to see before him that stranger's face.
When the children reached home, a surprise awaited them.
"Papa Pomme is home! Hurrah!" cried Philippe.
Sometimes Papa Pomme came home to dinner, and that was a great treat. But this evening Papa Pomme looked grave. He began to talk with Mother Yvelle. Philippe listened.
"They say that this thief has stolen from several farms about here," said Papa Pomme. "You had better warn Emile to watch."
"A thief, Papa?" asked Philippe, whose eyes were very big.
"Yes, my boy," Papa Pomme replied. "A man who goes about at night stealing vegetables from people's farms—a vegetable thief. I wish they could catch him. It is very hard for the poor farmers to have their produce stolen. This thief is a wicked man."
Philippe suddenly thought of his dark neighbor in the market place. Could it be——? Oh, no.
Still there were those stale vegetables. But Philippe refused to think of such a thing.
"Papa," he asked, "if this thief is caught, what will they do with him?"
"They will put him in prison, my son," answered Papa Pomme.
Philippe did not know how nearly right he had been. He had wondered whether his neighbor in the market place could be the thief.
But Philippe did not like to think evil of people, so he drove away that thought. But the tall dark man was really the vegetable thief.
Next day when Philippe arrived at the Grande Place, he looked for his neighbor. Yes, there was the man with another load of stale vegetables. He was piling them upon his counter.
Today Philippe noticed that there was a little girl with him. She was helping himspread out the wilted vegetables. Philippe did not know that during the night this evil man had stolen those vegetables from a poor farmer.
He had stolen them and now he had brought them to the market place to sell. They were not fresh like Philippe's vegetables, because the thief did not know how to take care of them.
The little girl with Philippe's neighbor glanced shyly at the boy. She was dark like the man. But her face was not like his. It was sweet and pretty.
Suddenly Philippe was surprised to hear the man call out cheerily: "Good morning to you, friend, and to the little golden-haired singing bird."
The man had changed from the day before. Philippe now rather liked his weather-beaten face. It was all wrinkled with smiles.
"Good morning to you, sir," answered Philippe.
"This is Zelie, my little daughter," said the fellow, still smiling. "Zelie, go over and shake hands with the boy and with the little singing bird. You must get acquainted."
Zelie obeyed. She seemed a shy but pleasant little girl. She was a year or so younger than Philippe. Her black hair hung straight from under a gypsy-like bandanna. She wore earrings in her ears. Her eyes were black, but they did not flash. They smiled at Philippe.
The two children talked. Philippe found Zelie bright and interesting. She had traveled a great deal. She spoke of her travels about the country.
THE TWO CHILDREN TALKEDTHE TWO CHILDREN TALKED
While the morning passed, the two children became friends.
As before, the boy and his sister sold theirfresh fine vegetables. People gathered around their booth and clapped for their singing. But nobody stopped to buy from the man beside them.
Still, instead of being jealous of Philippe, the stranger kept smiling at his neighbor. When the crowd had gone and it was time to start for home, the man came over to Philippe's booth.
"Did my Zelie tell you of her travels?" he asked Philippe.
"Oh, yes," replied the boy eagerly. "What great fortune to be able to wander about the country as you do, sir!"
The man looked at Philippe with those flashing eyes.
Then he said, "You could do so, too. You and the singing bird could earn great sums of money wandering about and singing. Why not go?"
Philippe started. Such a thing had never entered his mind. Though he had dreamed of adventure and travel, it had been only a dream.
"Oh, I couldn't, sir," he answered. "My mother would not let me go."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the man good-naturedly. "It would not be hard to persuade her. Tell her that Zelie and I will take you with us and you will be as safe and comfortable as you are at home."
Philippe wrinkled his brow. Then he began to prepare to go home. Somehow, this plan was a little startling. Still, it did tempt him.
He seemed to like the man much better today. Zelie, too, was a splendid companion. All the way home Philippe thought hard.
As the days passed, he grew to like Zelie and her father more and more. Zelie showed Philippe many delightful souvenirs from many parts of Belgium. She had also journeyed to other countries and spoke of those lands.
She was always sweet and happy. But Philippe sometimes wondered why there was a frightened look in her eyes. That frightened look came when she was with her father. She seemed to lose it when she sat talking with Philippe.
The man, whose name was Tom, asked Philippe one day, "Will you teach Zelie to sing your songs? They are so clever and bright."
"Certainly, sir," promised Philippe.
So he taught Zelie all of the little songs that he and Rose sang.
Today the sun was shining in the market place, and birds were singing. Philippe felt full of gladness. He met Zelie and her father, who had a smile on his face.
"What a fine day for traveling!" he cried. "How I should like to start out and wander to far places!"
Tom's sly eyes beamed. He slapped Philippe on the back lightly.
"That is just what Zelie and I are planning," he said. "Tomorrow we leave. Why could not you and the singing bird go with us?
"We shall go to every part of Belgium and take along our big organ. Zelie will play the organ, while you and Baby Rose sing."
Philippe's heart pounded. Yes, why not? He looked at Zelie. He thought she must be delighted. But he was amazed to see a look of fear in her little dark face.
"What luck!" he cried. "Are you not pleased, Zelie?"
"If you would come it might be jolly," the girl answered.
"Why not?" again thought Philippe. He said, "I'll ask my mother and father tonight. I shall tell you in the morning."
"Good!" Tom smiled. "Zelie and I can wait until the following day to start our journey. Then we four shall set out together."
That night Philippe asked his parents if he might go traveling with Tom and Zelie.
"This is a strange man," said Papa Pomme. "How do you know that he may not be a wicked man? Besides, a wandering life is a hard one, and Baby Rose is too young."
"But I am old and strong, Papa Pomme," begged Philippe. "I shall make great sums of money, too. Do, do let me go."
"Not yet, little cabbage," said Papa Pomme.
"NOT YET, LITTLE CABBAGE""NOT YET, LITTLE CABBAGE"
Philippe's dream was shattered. He cried himself to sleep that night.
The next day in the market place Tom met the children with an eager question.
"Well? Do we start tomorrow?" he asked.
"My father will not let me go," Philippe said.
The man scowled.
"Foolish," he frowned, "foolish! It would bring you money, and you could make your parents rich."
Philippe scowled, too.
"Yes," he agreed, "I told my father. But still he refuses to allow me to go."
"It is too bad," the man said. He shrugged his shoulders. "But Zelie and I must leave tomorrow. And maybe some day you will decide to join us."
Philippe wondered what Tom meant.
"You know you are a big boy now," Tomcontinued. "It is a shame for you to waste your time sitting in a market place selling vegetables."
He winked at Philippe slyly, and then started to whistle. Oh, how lucky was this Tom, thought Philippe; and the little girl, Zelie, too! But still Philippe noticed that Zelie's eyes were sad.
Philippe lay in bed and thought of Tom and of Zelie. Yes, mostly he thought of Zelie. He would never see her again. Tom was taking her away in the morning. What a pity!
She was the most interesting little friend the boy had ever had. Now he would be lonely again. Rose was still so young.
Of course, he had his books. But he did so long to wander through the country. It was summer time, and there was no school. Oh, happy Zelie!
HE DID SO LONG TO WANDER THROUGH THE COUNTRYHE DID SO LONG TO WANDER THROUGH THE COUNTRY
"But was she really happy?" Philippe wondered.
She had once told him that she had to pushthe big organ about while they begged their way.
It was a heavy thing, that organ, and Philippe had asked, "Doesn't it tire you, Zelie?"
Zelie had looked quickly at her father and had caught Tom's gleaming eye.
"No," she had replied, "it is fun."
Philippe had envied her. If he might go along, he could push the organ for her. He was strong. And he might help Tom, too.
Philippe did not know what his friend Tom was doing just at this moment. As Philippe lay in his comfortable little bed, he did not know that Tom was stealing his father's vegetables. Philippe did not know that poor Zelie was right under the window with Tom, helping to steal Papa Pomme's vegetables.
The next morning Emile Spinach ran into the house, very much excited.
"The vegetable thief has been in the garden, sir!" he cried to Papa Pomme.
Sure enough, their little farm had been robbed.
When Philippe and Rose arrived at themarket place, the booth next to theirs was empty.
Of course Philippe never dreamed that Tom was the thief. He missed his neighbors sadly. He pictured them pushing along the organ and playing in market places all over Belgium. He thought of them strolling along the pleasant roads.
He could hear Tom's gay whistle. He could see Zelie's little dark face. He wondered whether Zelie would sing the songs he had taught her. She had a pretty voice. She was not so small and cunning as Baby Rose, but she had a charm of her own.
Philippe became discontented. He sometimes wandered about the streets instead of staying in the market place. Of course, he only did this when Emile Spinach was there to stay with Rose.
Philippe was quieter than usual.
Papa Pomme said one day to Mother Yvelle, "I am worried about the boy. He is different. Something bothers him."
"SOMETHING BOTHERS HIM""SOMETHING BOTHERS HIM"
Papa Pomme did worry about Philippe. Papa Pomme worried so much that once he put sugar in the soup and salt in the pastry.The manager of the restaurant scolded Papa Pomme.
PUT SALT IN THE PASTRYPUT SALT IN THE PASTRY
One day Philippe was walking toward his father's restaurant. As he approached, a taxicab drove up and stopped a few doors away. Two gentlemen stepped out.
Philippe smiled as he heard one of the gentlemen ask the taxi driver, "Can you direct us to a restaurant?"
The gentleman had a very funny French accent. He continued, "We have heard so much about this delicious Belgian food. We are very hungry."
The taxi driver must have been hungry,too. He evidently wanted to be off to his own lunch.
For he replied sharply, "There are many restaurants. Just walk along any street. They can always be smelled!"
The unobliging taxi driver laughed at his own stupid joke. Then he started his motor and was off.
The two gentlemen stood for a moment looking at each other. Then one said something in a language that Philippe did not understand. But he felt sure that it was English.
The little boy walked over to the gentlemen.
"Excuse me, sirs," he began in French. "I heard you asking for a place to eat. I can take you to the best restaurant in Brussels."
The gentlemen looked at the little Belgian boy standing before them. Then one of them smiled and said something in English to theother. Philippe did not understand the words, but if you had been there you would have heard the gentleman say to his friend, "Let us take his word for it. He may know something about food. Boys usually do."
The other one laughed and said in French to Philippe, "Thank you. We shall be glad to follow you."
Of course, Philippe led the gentlemen to his father's restaurant. He held the door open for them to enter, and started to leave.
But the gentleman who spoke French said, "Come! Wouldn't you like to lunch with us? You might tell us a bit about the art of Belgian eating. What do you say?"
"Thank you," said Philippe.
He could always eat. His dreams did not prevent that.
So the two foreign gentlemen and the little Belgian boy sat down to lunch. Philippeshowed them how a Belgian orders a meal. They were amused at the child's knowledge of all these fine dishes. They asked him how he knew so much. Philippe then told them about Papa Pomme.
"Aha!" exclaimed the gentleman who spoke French. "It is a fine thing for a boy to have a papa who is a chef. Is it not?"
Philippe laughed and agreed. Then the same gentleman told about himself. He said, "My friend and I are touring through Belgium. My friend is an American. It is his first trip over here. I am from England. We are leaving tomorrow for Antwerp. Today we are going to see the sights of Brussels."
Philippe did full justice to the food spread before him. The men watched the hungry boy with great amusement.
The Englishman said, "Well, I must say you do eat well!"
Philippe stopped long enough to look up into his face and reply roguishly, "Yes, sir. I have been practicing all my life!"
The two gentlemen laughed. The Englishman had, of course, translated the words to his friend. They thought Philippe a very jolly lad. They did not know how really discontented he was. How little we can tell sometimes by looking at people what is really going on in their hearts!
"But now tell us," asked the Englishman. "Have you always lived in Brussels?"
"I have lived here all my life," Philippe answered. He then added timidly, "If you would like me to take you around the city after lunch I could show you many interesting sights. There are few places I do not know in Brussels."
"An excellent plan," cried the Englishman.
PLACE DE BRUGÈRE, BRUSSELSPLACE DE BRUGÈRE, BRUSSELS
Then he told his friend, the American, what the Belgian boy had offered to do.
"Good!" said the American in English. "And I hope he knows as much about cities as he does about food. For then we shall find our minds stuffed as full as our stomachs!"
Philippe was a very good guide. He had learned much through his reading. Now he was able to show his new friends many interesting sights in Brussels. Also, he knew stories about all of them.
Brussels has been called "Paris in Little." This is because it is beautiful like Paris, with boulevards, similar buildings, and lovely parks. They passed avenues shaded by fine old lime trees. They admired statues and fountains all over the city.
Philippe led the two gentlemen to the palace of the King. The little Brussels boy pointed out a long stately building which stands just opposite a fine park.
"So this is the palace of good King Albert!" remarked the English gentleman. "He is considered a great ruler."
"He is," smiled Philippe, "and we love him."
Then the boy continued seriously, "But we Belgians and even King Albert do not like the idea of a kingdom."
"No?" inquired the Englishman, in a surprised tone.
"You know Englishmen are very true to their King."
"Yes, I have read in my books that they are," replied Philippe. "But we have good reasons for continuing with a monarchy. First, because of our love for King Albert, and then because we are afraid that without our kingdom we should split up. And you know that our motto is 'In union there is strength.'"
"But why do you fear being split up, as you say?" inquired the Englishman.
"Because," answered Philippe, "on one side of us is France, a republic; on the other side is Germany, also a republic. We Belgians are very close to both these countries because of many things. We are like them in many ways and we trade with them. We fear that without our King to hold us together we might become part of these countries. And we are very patriotic. We never want to be anything but Belgian!"
The little fellow stood and saluted the flag, which was flying from the palace.
"See! The flag!" said Philippe, pointing to the red, yellow, and black colors fluttering in the breeze. "I can tell you about that, also, if you would like me to do so."
"Certainly," replied the Englishman. Then he turned to his friend, the American, andsaid, "The little chap is just full of stories."
"That may be," replied the friend, "but I do not understand a word. It all sounds like Chinese to me!"
"Wait," laughed the Englishman. "I shall translate them to you later."
So Philippe told about his flag.
"The black in the flag is the King's color," said he. "It stands for constancy, wisdom, and prudence. The yellow stands for law and order. And red is for Belgium's liberty, fought for and obtained by the blood of her soldiers."
As they walked along the shady streets the English gentleman explained to his friend all that Philippe had said. The American nodded his head understandingly.
"That is very interesting," he said. "I do not blame the Belgians for being loyal to their King. They have good reasons."
PALACE OF THE KING, BRUSSELSPALACE OF THE KING, BRUSSELS
"I am sure you would like to visit Waterloo," suggested Philippe. "I need not tell you the story of Waterloo," he smiled, "for everybody who has ever studied history knows about that."
But those who have not yet studied history may want to know that it is a famous battlefield where many wars were fought. The most famous of the battles was the struggle between the Duke of Wellington, who commanded the English army, and Napoleon Bonaparte who led the French.
When Philippe and his new friends had looked about for a while, the American gentleman remarked, "So this is where Napoleon met his Waterloo!"
It was here that Napoleon was conquered! That is why we still use the expression "met his Waterloo" when we mean to say "was defeated."
BRUSSELS HAS MANY FINE BOULEVARDSBRUSSELS HAS MANY FINE BOULEVARDS
Philippe showed them the "Mound of the Lion," that great pyramid-shaped monument on the battlefield.
"It was built after the Battle of Waterloo, in memory of the Prince of Orange," he explained. "It is as large as a city block. The huge lion on the top is made of metal from captured French cannons. You know that the lion is the emblem of Belgium. The mound was built almost entirely by women who carried the dirt in pails."
Driving back to the city, the Englishman remarked, "It seems to me that tea time is approaching."
The little boy knew how important tea time is to Englishmen. So he suggested an excellent café where they might sit outside and watch the people.
While they were eating, Philippe explained to the Englishman how he loved to read. Hetold of his interest in the stories of his land.
"Then you do not want to be a chef some day like your father?" asked the gentleman.
Philippe shook his head.
"I want to do great things," he answered. "To travel, to have adventures."
The Englishman smiled.
"That is very natural," he remarked. He told his friend, the American, what the boy had said. His friend laughed.
"That sounds like an American boy," he said. "Ask him what he wants to do."
The Englishman asked Philippe this question.
The boy answered, "Oh, I should like to go to Antwerp (ănt´-w[~e]rp) and Ghent (gĕnt) and see the sights of Belgium, because I know so many stories about everything."
He then told them about his wandering friends, Tom and Zelie.
MODERN BRUSSELS IS WELL LAID OUT WITH MANY WIDE AVENUESMODERN BRUSSELS IS WELL LAID OUT WITH MANY WIDE AVENUES
The Englishman remarked, "That is a hard life. It is much better to travel in a motor car." Then he smiled pleasantly and continued, "That is the way we travel. We are leaving for Antwerp tomorrow in our car."
Philippe's eyes shone. Here were more traveling folks. It seemed to the boy that everyone in the world was traveling except himself.
And while Philippe was thus thinking, the gentlemen were talking together in English.
Suddenly the Englishman turned to Philippe and asked, "How would you like to come along with us to Antwerp? You would make an excellent guide, since you know so much about the country."
Philippe's heart almost stopped beating.
"Oh, sir," he breathed, "that is very good of you." Then he hesitated. "But my father would not let me go."
"Where is your father?" asked the gentleman.
"At the restaurant where we lunched, sir. He is in the kitchen," replied Philippe.
"Very well; let us go and see him," suggested the Englishman.
Philippe led the gentlemen back to the restaurant. They followed him into the big kitchen.
There Philippe began to introduce them to Papa Pomme.
But the Englishman and Papa Pomme stared at one another and then they both cried out together, "Well, well, well!"
"WELL, WELL, WELL""WELL, WELL, WELL"
Philippe was surprised to see that PapaPomme and this English gentleman already knew each other. They were very happy to meet again.
Papa Pomme turned to Philippe and said, "My boy, here you see a war-time friend of your father's. We were soldiers together in the World War. This gentleman was a great hero!"
The Englishman interrupted, "Oh, no, no, my friend, not so great a hero as you."
Then he looked at Papa Pomme's wooden leg and they both grew serious.
"But come! We have something to ask you," the gentleman suddenly observed. "My friend and I are going to Antwerp tomorrow. Will you allow your son to go along? We promise to take good care of him, and I'm sure he'll take splendid care of us. For you know, he has guided us through Brussels all day."
Papa Pomme fairly beamed with pride.
Then he said, "It is very kind of you, and I am delighted to have my Philippe go along with you. He has wanted so much to travel. Eh, little Philippe?"
And he pulled the boy's hair playfully.
"Oh, yes, Papa," joyfully agreed Philippe.
Papa Pomme continued, "And this time, I know that you will be safe, for you will be with an old friend of mine."
Philippe felt like dancing. What a wonderful thing had happened! He was really going on a trip. Of course, it was only to Antwerp, and then for just a few days. But even so, adventures might happen. Had Philippe known what adventure was really coming, he might not have been so happy.
In the morning early a very excited little boy stood at the door of a farmhouse and gazed down the road.
Philippe was ready to travel to Antwerp with his friends, the two gentlemen. They had promised to stop by for him, and he had arisen early.
He was now in a state of great excitement. Mother Yvelle stood by his side. Her face was sad. She did not like to see her son leaving her. They heard a sound. The big motor car was approaching the tiny farm.
"Goodbye, Mamma. I shall be home soon. Do not worry," said Philippe.
He threw his arms about his mother's neck.The big car stopped before the door. The gentlemen jumped out.
"He will be back in two or three days," said the Englishman to Mother Yvelle. "We shall take good care of him. Have no fear."
Bundling Philippe into the car, the two gentlemen waved cheerily to the Belgian woman. She stood and watched them as they disappeared down the road.
"What is that?" cried the American, looking in surprise at his feet.
The lap robe of the car was moving.
"What can it be?" exclaimed the Englishman.
They lifted the lap robe. There, crouching on the floor of the car and looking up at them with friendly eyes, was Philippe's dog, Trompke.
"Trompke!" cried Philippe, "How did you get in? Shame!"
The puppy's tail went thump, thump! on the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Philippe. "I'll take him back if you'll stop the car."
"Never mind," laughed the Englishman. "Let him go along. He must have jumped in while we were saying goodbye to your mother."
"He would not let me go off without him," said Philippe. "He is so used to coming along."
So Trompke made the fourth traveler.
Along the smooth roads they motored. They passed tall poplar trees and well-tilled fields. They passed busy farmers. Everybody works in Belgium. It is an industrious little country.
They were soon in Antwerp. It is a short drive. They found the city less beautiful than Brussels. It seemed bristling with excitementand business. Some of the streets were picturesque and charming. Others were dirty and filled with rough people.
Philippe told his friend travelers that the most interesting place to see was the water front.
"It was there that the supplies, sent from your country during the World War, arrived," said the boy, looking at his American companion. "That is the port through which thousands and thousands of vessels pass each year."
They drove to the docks. Flags were flying from ships of almost every nation. There were miles and miles of masts and funnels. The air was full of busy noises.
"Did you know," asked the English gentleman, "that Antwerp is the second most important shipping port in Europe? Hamburg alone is more important."
ANTWERP IS THE SECOND MOST IMPORTANT SHIPPING PORT IN EUROPEANTWERP IS THE SECOND MOST IMPORTANT SHIPPING PORT IN EUROPE
After they had left the docks, they wandered about the city on foot.
THERE WERE MILES AND MILES OF MASTS AND FUNNELS IN ANTWERP HARBORTHERE WERE MILES AND MILES OF MASTS AND FUNNELS IN ANTWERP HARBOR
They saw the house where the great painter, Rubens, lived.
HOME OF RUBENS, ANTWERPHOME OF RUBENS, ANTWERP
It was growing late, and they talked of resting at a hotel before dinner. They were crossing a noisy street, on their way to a hotel, when Philippe suddenly saw Zelie and Tom.
The boy stopped. The two gentlemen were already on the opposite side. But Philippe stood stock still in the middle of the street and clutched his fat little puppy until the dog squealed. He had seen Zelie and Tom! But only for a moment.
Zelie was pushing the big organ. They had disappeared from sight, down an alleyway.
Only for a moment did Philippe stand still. Then he gathered his wits together. Off he dashed, after Zelie and Tom. But even though Philippe had followed almost immediately, they had now completely disappeared.
Thinking that he had been mistaken in the direction, Philippe turned around quickly and started down another street. Oh, he must find Zelie and Tom. He had missed them so. He wanted to talk with them again.
Frantically he turned, and once more he ran down the alleyway. There was a group of children playing on the curb.
"Have you seen a man and a girl with an organ?" asked Philippe in French.
The children did not understand. They giggled. Philippe realized that in Antwerp most of the people speak Flemish. He repeated his question in that language.
"Yes," replied one of the children. "They went very fast down that way. They went past the church toward the station."
Calling back his thanks, Philippe darted offin the direction given. Asking questions as he went, he finally arrived at the railway station. Puffing and panting, he dashed up to the station master.
"Have you seen—a tall man—and a girl—with an organ?" puffed Philippe.
The station master smiled at the wild face of the boy before him.
Then he pointed to a train just chugging away and replied, "They are on that train which is leaving the station."
Philippe's face fell. His heart pounded.
"Where is that train going?" he demanded.
"To Ghent," replied the station master, smiling. "It is too late to catch it now."
"When does the next train leave for Ghent?" asked Philippe.
"There is no train for Ghent tonight—only a freight train which leaves here in an hour," the man answered.
GHENT IS A VERY OLD CITY, AND IN SPITE OF ITS STORMY HISTORY, RETAINS MUCH OF ITS ANCIENT SPLENDORGHENT IS A VERY OLD CITY, AND IN SPITE OF ITS STORMY HISTORY, RETAINS MUCH OF ITS ANCIENT SPLENDOR
The boy thanked the station master and turned away quickly. Philippe knew that he would not be allowed to ride on the freight train. But he also knew that he was going to follow his friends to Ghent if he had to board the train secretly and hide.
And that is just what he did. A wild idea had come into his head. Why should he go back to Brussels with the two gentlemen? Why should he begin all over again that dull life in the market place? Why not run away and join Tom and Zelie? They were not far. They were in Ghent. Yes, Philippe would go to Ghent.
So, huddled between boxes and crates, the boy and his puppy sat still in the stuffy freight car and waited for it to leave the station. Finally it pulled out, and Philippe knew that he was on his way to Ghent and to his friends.
Then he began to think of the thing he had done. What would the two foreign gentlemen think? What would his father and mother do when the gentlemen returned to Brussels without their boy?
Philippe smiled to himself as he thought,"I shall write to them. They will be pleased when I send them great sums of money."
Poor Philippe! Little did he know what awaited him! Little did he dream that much trouble lay between himself and his return home.
He only knew that at last he was off on his adventure. Young Philippe was now going forth into the world like a knight of old. But instead of riding a steed, this knight sat huddled in an old freight car with a fat puppy in his arms.
SAT HUDDLED IN AN OLD FREIGHT CARSAT HUDDLED IN AN OLD FREIGHT CAR
Belgium has more miles of railway than any other country of its size in the world.
Philippe was having a noisy ride, huddled up in the corner of a freight car. He was tired out from all the excitement of travel during the day. Even the sounds of passing trains, the swaying motion, the puff-puffing and shrill whistling all around him could not keep him awake. Philippe and Trompke slept.
Philippe did not know how long he had been sleeping when he suddenly sat up straight. The train had stopped. The boy rubbed his eyes. All was black around him. He could feel the soft coat of Trompke beside him.
He felt for the door of the car and opened it. Then he jumped out, followed by Trompke. He found himself standing beside the freight car. It was night. They were in the middle of a field, far out in the country. The rest of the train had, no doubt, gone off and left them behind.
He was alone. Probably the rest of the freight train was now in Ghent. But his car had been left in this deserted place for some reason which Philippe did not know.
He started across the field toward a farmhouse. He was very hungry! If only he might go in and ask for something to eat. But it was very late at night. The people were surely asleep, and he must not awaken them.
There was a barn near the house. Philippe decided to sleep there. He could go to the house in the morning and ask for food. So he climbed up into a hay loft. The hay wassoft and sweet; snuggling down, the boy and the dog were soon asleep. It must have been nearly dawn, when Philippe was awakened by voices below him. Not stirring, he listened. He heard two men, who had entered and were unharnessing a horse.