Year: 1879

A STORY FROM OVER THE SEAS.


Oudenarde is a town in the Neither
lands; perhaps the guide books spell it
Audenarde, but long ago, when she lived
there, the country was known as Flan-
ders, and the name of the town began
with o. They were times of trouble
then on account of the wars. The men
were nearly ali off for soldiers whether
they wanted to 90 or not; and the towns,
which all had high walls round them
for defence, fell first into the hands of
one army and then of the other, and
fighting was the chief business.


This woman, whose name was Petro-
nilla, lived just off the road between
Oudenarde and Ghent, which were
twelve miles apart; but she belonged to
the former place, though she lived a
good way outside, and never went there
now; for not only did she feel too old
for the walk. but the town had garri-
son of soldiers in it, and was in danger
of being attacked any day, and she had
seen trouble enough without going to
seek itsf -.


She was more than seventy years old,
and lived alone except for her cat. And
she was so poor that she had almost
nothing but two cows, and those she
would not have had long if the soldiers
had thought them worth driving off;
but us they were not much more than
skin and bone, she was left in peaceful
possession of them.


Being pious woman, when she said
her prayers at night she never forgot to
say that the COWS were great deal to be
thankful for. On the few pints OF milk
they gave, and little barley bread, she
managed to live. and also to keep her
cat in good condition.


The cat-his name was Solomon-had
belonged to her son Peter. SO had the
cows, which he had raised from calves
when they had a nice farmstead of their
own, and all was prosperous with them


Now the farm was gone, the horses
and the cattle, all but the COWS. She
had only them and the cat.


Her husband was dead; and Peter was
lost. He had been forced into the wars.
and now for eleven years no tidings of
him had ever reached her.


But she always prayed for him as if
ne was alive, and never gave over the
hope that he might come back-a mother
never does.


That was why she still lived near
Oudenarde; because if she went away,
and he should come back, how could he
ever find her? Could he anyway, for
her old neigh ors were all gone, and
the war had ch nged everythingp


She had found shelter in q little, old
hut with thatched roof. The walls
looked ready to fall down, and the
thatch had rotted so that it let in the
rain; but she kept it sweet and airy.


In fair weather the door ALWAYS stood
wide open, showing the clean, clay floor,
small fireplace with the dinner-pot.
which had nothing in it, hanging on the
crane, two wooden benches, a table and
bed, a brass lamp, some pewter and
wooden dishes, and crucifix ard
picture of the Virgin. There was a
square window with latticed bars across
it in checkers, and on the ledge was
always a mug of flowers, and beside it in
sunny days usually sat the cat, which
was salmon-colored and immensely
large.


This was how the house looked one
September afternoon at sunset. Petro-
nilla had just MIXED the cows, and
both of them were safe for the night in
little yard at the end of the house.
She stood in the door looking first at the
small quantity of milk in the wooden
dipper she held in her hand, and then at
the cows, and saw that they were leaner
than ever. Then she gazed off upon the
dusty, dried-up fields, on whose out
skirts they had picked up their scanty
living, while she sat by watching them
with knitting work in her hands; there
was almost nothing left for them; what
should she do?


Then she thought of the great meadows
along the river toward Oudenarde;
broad and green she could see them far
away this side the town. There the
grasses grew rank and high; and in this
time of fear no man cared for them, or
would dare to cut them. A force of
soldiers had just gone into garrison
there, the gates were kept shut and
guarded, the inhabitants dared not stir
outside; and at any moment the men of
Ghent might march down and attack
them.


1t was no trespass to gather grass from
the river valley.


The longer she looked, the more she
felt that she could get some, and that she
ought to do it.


When she had made up her mind she
felt easier, and her face showed it. 1t
was good face; brown, because she
had been out of doors so much, wrinkled
in row of burrows clear across her
forehead, and wrinkled about her eyes
and chin, but it was kind and patient.


She tied dark handkerchief over her
clean white cap, and tucked her small
checked shawl closer about her neck and
crossed 1t on her bosom outside of her