honor.

It was now cold weather; winter had set in, and life became more
difficult as food grew scarce and there was not enough fuel to
heat the houses. School should have begun in October, but school-
buildings had not been spared in the bombardment, and it was
dangerous to permit children to stay in them. At last, however, a
new way was found to cheat the enemy of its prey. Schools were
opened in the great champagne cellars of Rheims, and Pierre and
Pierrette were among the first scholars enrolled. Every day after
that they hastened through the streets before the usual hour of
the bombardment, went down into one of the great tunnels cut in
chalk, and there, in rooms deep underground, carried on their
studies. It was a strange school, but it was safer than their
home, even though there was danger in going back and forth in the
streets. By spring the children of Rheims had lived so much in
cellars that they were as pale as potato-sprouts.

Mother Meraut watched her two with deepening anxiety. Then, one
day in the spring, a corner of their own roof was blown off by a
shell. No one was hurt, but when a few moments later a second
explosion blew a cat through the hole and dropped it into the
soup, Mother Meraut's endurance gave way.

It was the last straw! She put the cat out, yowling but unharmed,
and silently cleared away the debris. Then, when the bombardment
was over, she put on her bonnet and went out. She came back an
hour later, to find the Twins sitting, one on each side of their
Father, holding his hands, and all three the picture of despair.
Mother Meraut stood before them, her eyes flashing, her cheeks