Part 10 (1/2)

There was a barn near the house. Philippe decided to sleep there. He could go to the house in the morning and ask for food. So he climbed up into a hay loft. The hay was soft and sweet; snuggling down, the boy and the dog were soon asleep. It must have been nearly dawn, when Philippe was awakened by voices below him. Not stirring, he listened. He heard two men, who had entered and were unharnessing a horse.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PHILIPPE SLEPT IN THE HAY]

”It was the best fair of the year,” said one.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ca.n.a.l AND SHEEP, A VIEW OF BELGIAN COUNTRYSIDE]

In Belgium there are many fairs all the year round.

”Ah, ho, hum!” yawned the other man. ”But we stayed in Ghent so long!

Now we shall have only a short time to sleep before starting the day's work.”

”Never mind,” the other man declared, ”it was worth the drive. And besides, the fair is leaving Ghent tomorrow.”

Philippe put his chin on his elbow and listened. Then the man began to sing:

”I wouldn't be a lettuce With my head all thrown about.”

”That was the song that the gypsy girl sang; wasn't it?” asked the other.

”Yes,” replied the first.

Philippe could hardly believe what he heard. That was his song! He had taught that song to Rose! Zelie must be singing his songs at the fair in Ghent.

Philippe was about to call down to the men. Then he stopped. They might mistake him for a tramp. They might do him some harm. No; he must be careful.

Then, yawning sleepily, the two men stamped out of the barn. Philippe heard the door closing behind them.

The only sound now was the crunch-crunching of the horse. But even that did not remind Philippe of his hunger. He could think of only one thing.

He must reach Ghent as quickly as possible! He must find his friends before they left. He must join them at the fair in Ghent.

Philippe rose and went down into the barn. The men had locked the door; but there was a tiny window above the horse's stall. Through this, the boy first pushed Trompke. Then he started to climb through it himself.

”Come, Trompke,” he called. ”We must walk to Ghent. There is no time to lose. We must get there before the fair moves on.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE STARTED THROUGH THE WINDOW]

Dawn was in the sky as the boy and his dog trudged wearily along the road. They were in the famous flax-growing district of Belgium. There were many glistening ca.n.a.ls and rows of tall trees. They crossed bridges and pa.s.sed low farmhouses with red roofs. But not once did Philippe stop.

Though his legs ached, never once did the boy give in. Trompke's tongue swept the ground. He was too tired to bark even at birds and chickens.

They pa.s.sed fields of flax. This flax is sent to the factories of Ghent where it is made into fine linen.

The word ”Ghent” is taken from the French word ”gant,” meaning ”glove.”

Ghent was once famous for glove making. But today the lace and linen trades are more popular.

At last Philippe could see the outline of houses in the distance. It was bright sunlight now. There was smoke curling up from chimneys. People were cooking breakfast in Ghent.