The Washington herald., 1917-07-08


Belgium and has written an suthoritaiive book
on his experiences in that country. This Btory
Is an outgrowth Of those cxperiences.
Pierre. the chauffeur, launched a
savage kick at the newly punctured
tire and swore into tho patient night.
Three quarters of an hour. monsieur.
to repair it," he said reluctantly.
switching on the motor. do you
wish"
Into the sudden silence stole the slow
incessant roar of the User cannon.
The level stretches of the Campine.
alternating black vistas of scrub ever
green's with little fields, peat bogs.
and kitchen gardens lay fragrant and
silent in the moonlight Heather was
In bloom. nightIngales were nesting
and so were no longer singing, and
the narrow Flemish road before and
behind the automobile lay like a placid
river. inviting one TO quiet thoughts.
"Yes," answered Pierre's unfinlsh-
ed query. ''I'll go for a stroll toward
the next farm house. Take your time
Pierre. There's no hurry tonight"
We had Just left the town OF Gheel.
one of the most remarkable places in
Belgium. a town where more than a
thousand insane folk live quiet and
useful lives, parceled out among the
peasants. but under the supervision Of
district doctors. The insane are treat
ed as IL they were normal beings. are
given work according to their strength.
mental and physical and find COM
panionship among a peasantry noted
fN- ia e,,EH F.,I
dence. This is originally due to GER
tain miracles Of Saint Dympna, one
Of the guardian saints of the insane
an Irish princess. converted to Chris
tianity. and martyred at Gheel by her
pagan father on the Both day Of May
in the year OF Our Lord 600.
Under the bright moon the land
seemed singularly like ireland. and
4 little old man stepping toward me
down the silvery road, his pipe in his
mouth, his eyes screwed up. his bent
lees wrapped in ill-ftting trousers. his
feet in wooden shoes, might have been
the fabled leprechaun, or Wee Hughie
Gallagher. OF Donegal He wore a
brassard on his right sleeve. for he
was one OF the village watch. guard
ing the telephone and telegraph wires
so that no accident might happen to
them to give the Germans an excuse
for crushing the commune with an
eXorbitant fine.
"Goe'n avond, mynheer," I called in
a weak voice.
"Avond, mynheer." he answered in
a weak voice.
Il am the American delegate OF the
komiteit voor Hulp en- Wedding"
explained.
"Mynheer is American" he asked
doubtfully. taking his pipe from his
mouth and scratching his head as II
to recall where or what America could
be.
ia wei. Have you a cup of milk at
your house,
He turned and faced hack down the
road. still scratching his head.
AIS t u helieft, mynheer," / added
tremendously.
My superlative courtesy seemed 10
decide him, and he gave a gesture of
assent. Side by side and in silence
then We walked down the silver road
to the first farmhouse. A black mass
OF protecting trees hung close over
the chimney, and low thatch swept
down like the back OF some prehis-
toric monster. Eray-gresn in the clear
mocnlight The walls were lath. flled
in with cisy. Two little rectangular
windows ElOwed DULY. and the edges
Of the thick, ill-iittIng door shone with
faint light.
You live here mynheer?" / asked.
ia, mynheer."
You own it?"
Il rent #"
81 may enter"
You may enter. mynheer"
We thrust open the door without
knocking. I stumbled into the dimly-
hShtod room. hardly knowing what |
expected TO find. Pea SAINTS cottages
we're invariably interesting to me, and
invariably they contained surprises.
But this was older and more primitive
than any / had yet visited-a relic OF
long-Gone days. 1t was like opening
an ancient tomb or a buried city.
entered expectantly. and 10, the CEN
tuIles rolled backward. and stood
with people OF Froissart's day. with
peasant who had scarcely altered
since the Middle Ages. whose feet
were hardly on the threshold OF mod
ernity.
The room was square. At one end
was a brick fireplace. rude as if
aborigines had built Il, with an iron
frame squatting in the ashes. thick
pot suspended by chain, a broiling
rack, heavy iron fork, a charred
SLICK for poker, and a rude crane.
In the smoke Of a tiny turf-fire on the
hearth hung rows Of drying vegetables
ana skins of meat. The floor was
beaten earth, hard as brick. The walls
were whitewashed. The ceiling was
Slow and strung with onions and other
roots and vegetables, and the only
touch Of modern things was a hanging
lamp in the center. In a corner hune
a mans suit of Sunday clothes, like
a creature which has been hanged. A
ladder beside it went up 10 the blind
lott overhead. A picture of the Virgin
hung on one wall, and a plaster statue
OF Saint Anthony and Saint Joseph
cleaned from a shelf over the fire.
place, drawing ones eye TO a row of
plates and dishes. An odor Of smoke
and cooking and manure heaps and
the foul smells of unwashed human
beings crowded the little room. and
the air droned with the sleepy buzzing
OF innumerable flies.
A barefooted, prematurely aged
woman, bent with two much cbiIo.
bearing, gave me a chair, wiping IL
tremendously with her apron. The
man spat on the floor behind US and
scraped the spittle with his sabot.
Three children were asleep in a recess
on pile of litter curtained from sight
IN the daytime. But the most striking
person in the room was a young wom-
an sitting before the turf-fire with a
fourth child-evidently the youngest
IN hcr lap. She wore stockings, leath-
er shoes. and a simple. black bomba-
zine dress. Her face was turned from
me, but ! saw that her hair was neat
~ colled about her head and pinned
with shell comb.
Inc older woman sprang TO the
hanging In II