The dazed children looked toward the east as she pointed. There
in the distance, advancing like a great tidal wave, was a long
gray line of soldiers on horseback. Already they could hear the
sound of music and the throb of drums; already the sun glistened
upon the shining helmets and the cruel points of bayonets. The
host stretched away across the plain as far as the eye could
reach, and behind them the sky was thick with the smoke of fires.

"The church! the church!" cried Mother Van Hove. "No, there is
not time. Hide in here, my darlings. Quickly! Quickly!"

She tore open the door of the earth-covered vegetable cellar as
she spoke, and thrust Jan and Marie inside. Fidel bolted in after
them. "Do not move or make a sound until all is quiet again," she
cried as she closed the door.

There was not room for her too, in the cellar, and if there had
been, Mother Van Hove would not have taken it, for it was
necessary to close the door from the outside. This she did,
hastily, throwing some straw before it. Then she rushed into the
house and, snatching up her shining milk-pans, flung them upon
the straw, as if they were placed there to be sweetened by the
sun. No one would think to look under a pile of pans for hidden
Belgians, she felt sure.

Nearer and nearer came the hosts, and now she could hear the
sound of singing as from ten thousand brazen throats,
"Deutschland, Deutschland uber Alles," roared the mighty chorus,
and in another moment the little village of Meer was submerged in
the terrible gray flood.