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.