sight as possible in their search for her, were spared most of
these horrors. Their progress was slow, for the bundle was heavy,
and the river path less direct than the road, and it was
nightfall before the two little waifs, with Fidel at their heels,
reached the well-remembered Brussels gate.

Their hearts almost stopped beating when they found it guarded by
a German soldier. "Who goes there?" demanded the guard gruffly,
as he caught sight of the little figures.

"If you please, sir, it's Jan and Marie," said Jan, shaking in
his boots.

"And Fidel, too," said Marie.

The soldier bent down and looked closely at the two tear-stained
little faces. It may be that some remembrance of other little
faces stirred within him, for he only said stiffly, "Pass, Jan
and Marie, and you, too, Fidel." And the two children and the dog
hurried through the gate and up the first street they came to,
their bundle bumping along behind them as they ran.

The city seemed strangely silent and deserted, except for the
gray-clad soldiers, and armed guards blocked the way at
intervals. Taught by fear, Jan and Marie soon learned to slip
quietly along under cover of the gathering darkness, and to dodge
into a doorway or round a corner, when they came too near one of
the stiff, helmeted figures.

At last, after an hour of aimless wandering, they found