They sat in a steady brooding silence. I asked the Belgian if they
understood English. They did not, and so I questioned him.
"Very big family this you've got," I remarked. I knew what they were, but
just wanted to draw him out.
"Oh, they're not my family."
"Only visitors?" I queried.
"Darned good visitors," said he, "they've been here since the second week
of August, 1914."
"Refugees--" I commented.
"Yes, refugees, not one with a home. Not one who has not lost her husband,
her son or her grandson. Not one who has not lost every bit of small
property, but her clothes as well. You think that I am doing something to
help? Well, that is not much. I'm lucky with the few I have. There's my old
neighbor over yonder on the hill. He owns five acres and has a two-roomed
shack and he keeps eleven."
"And how long do you expect them to stay?"
"Why, laddie," said he. "Stay--how should I know? I was talking to an
officer the other day and he told me he believed the first ten years of
this war would be the worst. They are free and welcome to stay all that
time, and longer if need be.
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