Little Philippe of Belgium

Chapter VII

PHILIPPE RUNS AWAY

In the morning early a very excited little boy stood at the door of a farmhouse and gazed down the road.

Philippe was ready to travel to Antwerp with his friends, the two gentlemen. They had promised to stop by for him, and he had arisen early.

He was now in a state of great excitement. Mother Yvelle stood by his side. Her face was sad. She did not like to see her son leaving her. They heard a sound. The big motor car was approaching the tiny farm.

"Goodbye, Mamma. I shall be home soon. Do not worry," said Philippe.

He threw his arms about his mother's neck. The big car stopped before the door. The gentlemen jumped out.

"He will be back in two or three days," said the Englishman to Mother Yvelle. "We shall take good care of him. Have no fear."

Bundling Philippe into the car, the two gentlemen waved cheerily to the Belgian woman. She stood and watched them as they disappeared down the road.

"What is that?" cried the American, looking in surprise at his feet.

The lap robe of the car was moving.

"What can it be?" exclaimed the Englishman.

They lifted the lap robe. There, crouching on the floor of the car and looking up at them with friendly eyes, was Philippe's dog, Trompke.

"Trompke!" cried Philippe, "How did you get in? Shame!"

The puppy's tail went thump, thump! on the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Philippe. "I'll take him back if you'll stop the car."

"Never mind," laughed the Englishman. "Let him go along. He must have jumped in while we were saying goodbye to your mother."

"He would not let me go off without him," said Philippe. "He is so used to coming along."

So Trompke made the fourth traveler.

Along the smooth roads they motored. They passed tall poplar trees and well-tilled fields. They passed busy farmers. Everybody works in Belgium. It is an industrious little country.

They were soon in Antwerp. It is a short drive. They found the city less beautiful than Brussels. It seemed bristling with excitement and business. Some of the streets were picturesque and charming. Others were dirty and filled with rough people.

Philippe told his friend travelers that the most interesting place to see was the water front.

"It was there that the supplies, sent from your country during the World War, arrived," said the boy, looking at his American companion. "That is the port through which thousands and thousands of vessels pass each year."

They drove to the docks. Flags were flying from ships of almost every nation. There were miles and miles of masts and funnels. The air was full of busy noises.

"Did you know," asked the English gentleman, "that Antwerp is the second most important shipping port in Europe? Hamburg alone is more important."

ANTWERP IS THE SECOND MOST IMPORTANT SHIPPING PORT IN EUROPE

After they had left the docks, they wandered about the city on foot.

THERE WERE MILES AND MILES OF MASTS AND FUNNELS IN ANTWERP HARBOR

They saw the house where the great painter, Rubens, lived.

HOME OF RUBENS, ANTWERP

It was growing late, and they talked of resting at a hotel before dinner. They were crossing a noisy street, on their way to a hotel, when Philippe suddenly saw Zelie and Tom.

The boy stopped. The two gentlemen were already on the opposite side. But Philippe stood stock still in the middle of the street and clutched his fat little puppy until the dog squealed. He had seen Zelie and Tom! But only for a moment.

Zelie was pushing the big organ. They had disappeared from sight, down an alleyway.

Only for a moment did Philippe stand still. Then he gathered his wits together. Off he dashed, after Zelie and Tom. But even though Philippe had followed almost imme diately, they had now completely disappeared.

Thinking that he had been mistaken in the direction, Philippe turned around quickly and started down another street. Oh, he must find Zelie and Tom. He had missed them so. He wanted to talk with them again.

Frantically he turned, and once more he ran down the alleyway. There was a group of children playing on the curb.

"Have you seen a man and a girl with an organ?" asked Philippe in French.

The children did not understand. They giggled. Philippe realized that in Antwerp most of the people speak Flemish. He repeated his question in that language.

"Yes," replied one of the children. "They went very fast down that way. They went past the church toward the station."

Calling back his thanks, Philippe darted off in the direction given. Asking questions as he went, he finally arrived at the railway station. Puffing and panting, he dashed up to the station master.

"Have you seen – a tall man – and a girl – with an organ?" puffed Philippe.

The station master smiled at the wild face of the boy before him.

Then he pointed to a train just chugging away and replied, "They are on that train which is leaving the station."

Philippe's face fell. His heart pounded.

"Where is that train going?" he demanded.

"To Ghent," replied the station master, smiling. "It is too late to catch it now."

"When does the next train leave for Ghent?" asked Philippe.

"There is no train for Ghent tonight – only a freight train which leaves here in an hour," the man answered.

GHENT IS A VERY OLD CITY, AND IN SPITE OF ITS STORMY HISTORY, RETAINS MUCH OF ITS ANCIENT SPLENDOR

The boy thanked the station master and turned away quickly. Philippe knew that he would not be allowed to ride on the freight train. But he also knew that he was going to follow his friends to Ghent if he had to board the train secretly and hide.

And that is just what he did. A wild idea had come into his head. Why should he go back to Brussels with the two gentlemen? Why should he begin all over again that dull life in the market place? Why not run away and join Tom and Zelie? They were not far. They were in Ghent. Yes, Philippe would go to Ghent.

So, huddled between boxes and crates, the boy and his puppy sat still in the stuffy freight car and waited for it to leave the station. Finally it pulled out, and Philippe knew that he was on his way to Ghent and to his friends.

Then he began to think of the thing he had done. What would the two foreign gentlemen think? What would his father and mother do when the gentlemen returned to Brussels without their boy?

Philippe smiled to himself as he thought, "I shall write to them. They will be pleased when I send them great sums of money."

Poor Philippe! Little did he know what awaited him! Little did he dream that much trouble lay between himself and his return home.

He only knew that at last he was off on his adventure. Young Philippe was now going forth into the world like a knight of old. But instead of riding a steed, this knight sat huddled in an old freight car with a fat puppy in his arms.

SAT HUDDLED IN AN OLD FREIGHT CAR

Chapter VIII

A DIFFICULT JOURNEY

Belgium has more miles of railway than any other country of its size in the world.

Philippe was having a noisy ride, huddled up in the corner of a freight car. He was tired out from all the excitement of travel during the day. Even the sounds of passing trains, the swaying motion, the puff-puffing and shrill whistling all around him could not keep him awake. Philippe and Trompke slept.

Philippe did not know how long he had been sleeping when he suddenly sat up straight. The train had stopped. The boy rubbed his eyes. All was black around him. He could feel the soft coat of Trompke beside him.

He felt for the door of the car and opened it. Then he jumped out, followed by Trompke. He found himself standing beside the freight car. It was night. They were in the middle of a field, far out in the country. The rest of the train had, no doubt, gone off and left them behind.

He was alone. Probably the rest of the freight train was now in Ghent. But his car had been left in this deserted place for some reason which Philippe did not know.

He started across the field toward a farmhouse. He was very hungry! If only he might go in and ask for something to eat. But it was very late at night. The people were surely asleep, and he must not awaken them.

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.

PHILIPPE SLEPT IN THE HAY

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

CANAL 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:

"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."

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 canals and rows of tall trees. They crossed bridges and passed 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 passed 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.

HARVESTING GRAIN BY HAND IN BELGIUM

Philippe could not let himself think of that. To the market place he went.

"Where is the fair?" he asked a passerby.

"It left Ghent last night," was the answer. "It will be in Bruges (brōō'jez) for three days, and I only wish I could go there and see it again."

Philippe did not hear the last remark. He had already turned. Everything had begun to whirl about him. But he stumbled on, on.

"We must follow them to Bruges, Trompke," he said, bravely.

But Trompke lay down on the sidewalk with his head between his paws. His tongue was lolling. His eyes said, "Not I! I stay!"

But Philippe was already walking away. Trompke arose wearily and followed. What dog has the right to refuse the commands of a boy? It is true that in this case the dog was more sensible than the boy.

For Philippe was completely worn out. He was so tired and hungry, he could scarcely think. It would have been better had he rested awhile.

But all he could think of was finding Tom and Zelie and joining them.

Chapter IX

THE CITY OF SISTERS

Philippe approached the great Convent of Ghent. This convent is different from most convents. It is like a little village where each sister has her own cosy house. These sisters have given up the life of the world. They live their own lives in this City of Sisters. They spend their time making beautiful laces, doing charity work and going to church.

Philippe had heard of the convent in Ghent. He had seen some of the sisters in Brussels at times. He knew they were kind and he determined to enter one of their homes and ask for food.

At the gate of the convent, Philippe met an elderly sister. She wore a long black gown and a snow-white cap. Her face was ruddy and wrinkled. She smiled at Philippe and stopped.

"You look tired, little one," she said.

Philippe answered, "I have walked many miles. I am hungry."

The sister then led him into her wee house. It looked like a gingerbread house. It was like all the other houses at the convent. It was made of brick.

"Come, let me give you some broth," said the sister kindly.

And she gave Philippe a bowl of delicious broth. They sat together in her neat little room.

When Philippe finished the broth he said, "Thank you, my sister. You are very kind." Then he told her his story.

"I must go on to Bruges," he finished "For the fair is in Bruges, and I shall find my friends there."

THE GREAT CONVENT OF GHENT

The sister looked serious.

"My boy, does your mother know what you are doing?" she asked.

Philippe shook his head slowly and said, "But I shall write to her now if you will please give me a pen and some paper."

After he had written to his parents, the boy looked up and found the good sister's gaze upon him.

"Why don't you give up this idea and go home?" she asked.

But Philippe laughed.

"Oh, no," he replied, "I could not do that now. Why, Tom says I shall make great sums of money! Tom is a fine fellow! Oh, my parents will be glad that I went, when I make them rich."

But still the sister seemed worried.

"Stay with me a day or so," she urged. "You are worn out with your long walk. Let me give you rest and food. Then perhaps we may find a way to send you to Bruges."

Philippe patted her rough, capable hand.

"Thank you, my sister," he said, "but I must waste no time."

Then the sister arose and went to a little table. She took from a drawer a linen bag. From the bag she brought forth some money.

SISTERS OF THE CONVENT

Handing it to Philippe, she said, "Take this, little one, and ride to Bruges on it. That way you will reach your friends quickly and save your strength."

Philippe hesitated at first.

Then he took the money and said, "I can never thank you enough. But I shall return this money to you. You shall see."

After Philippe had washed and prepared to leave, he said to his new friend, "I have heard so much about the fine lace which is made by the sisters of the convent. May I see some of it?"

The good woman smiled and led the boy to another room to show him her work.

But suddenly Philippe started and looked about him with troubled eyes.

"My sister!" he cried, "I had a little dog. I almost forgot about him!"

"I saw your little dog," the sister answered. "He came in with you. But now he has disappeared."

Philippe began calling, "Trompke! Trompke!"

The sister helped him search the house.

"I cannot imagine where he went," exclaimed the sister.

Then they saw a strange sight.

From the big workbasket, where the sister kept her lace, came Trompke. He was completely wrapped in beautiful lace. He looked like a bride. His train was long and flowing. Upon his head was a lace cap. His dog face peered forth anxiously.

HIS DOG FACE PEERED FORTH ANXIOUSLY

His tail stirred the lace train as it wagged, as if it were asking, "Were you looking for me?" For, you know, dogs speak with their tails.

Trompke waddled up to Philippe and continued to talk in tail language as if he were saying, "I was fast asleep in the workbasket. I was very tired. The lace was soft."

As soon as Philippe recovered from his amazement, he fell on his knees and began to untangle the lace from the dog's body.

"Oh, Trompke! Shame, Trompke!" he cried.

But the sister was laughing so hard that her kind, red face grew even redder than usual.

"Do not scold him," she said, "He did no harm. Oh, what a funny sight!"

And again the good sister went into peals of laughter. Her mirth started Philippe to thinking. A plan was forming in his mind.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "My sister, I have thought of a plan!"

The sister wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. She listened to the boy.

"It suddenly came to me as you were laughing," he said, "that if the sight of Trompke seemed so funny to you, why would it not be funny to others?"

The sister gave signs of exploding again at the mention of lace-gowned Trompke.

But Philippe went on, "Give me some of your lace. I will dress Trompke as a bride in the market place of Bruges. People will stop. And when they stop, I shall sell them your lace. I shall be able, then, to repay you."

The sister looked into Philippe's eyes. She seemed much interested in what he had said.

She replied, "You have thought of a very clever plan. You are one who will make much of your life. That is plain to see."

Without wasting any time, the sister and Philippe prepared for the boy's journey.

Soon Philippe was leaving the tiny house with a bundle of lace tucked under his arm. His good friend walked with him as far as the gates of the convent.

As Philippe looked back, he saw the sister standing at the big iron gates, waving to him.

She looked after him and thought, "What a clever little fellow he is!"

She did not know what a disobedient little fellow Philippe really was. Also, she did not know that she was sending him to a thief. But then, neither did Philippe know this. He had told her that Tom and Zelie were his friends and that they were fine people. Philippe honestly believed this.

As he walked, he turned every little while to wave back to the sister. At last the City of Sisters faded from sight.

Chapter X

IN THE SHADOWS OF BRUGES

Philippe traveled comfortably to Bruges. Thanks to his friend, the sister, he rode in a train. He left the glass-roofed station of Ghent, and soon the train was speeding through flat, fertile country. It was not long before the old city of Bruges loomed into sight.

The word "Bruges" means "Bridges," and it is no wonder that the city bears that name. For everywhere one looks, one sees a bridge.

Bruges is a very old city. Once, long years ago, it was a famous port. Fabrics of many kinds came into Bruges. Famous Belgian laces and linens were shipped from there to other countries.

ANCIENT CITY GATE, BRUGES

But since the discovery of America, Bruges has been very quiet. For with the discovery of the new world came a great change. There came new methods of trading. Bruges sank back upon her bridges and let the rest of the world go by.

Philippe sat in his railway coach. He looked out of the window and thought how very gray and dull the old city looked.

"I should not like to be alone on those old cobbled streets at night," he shivered.

The tall steeples of the old churches threw shadows. Ghosts of knights in armor might well prowl those streets! Again Philippe shuddered.

He began to be a little homesick. He began to think about his mother and Papa Pomme and Baby Rose. He had disobeyed his parents. He had left those two kind gentlemen without saying a word.

What would they think of him? Philippe knew that he had done wrong. But somehow he knew that he was going to keep right on until he found Tom and Zelie. He could not give up now.

The train pulled into the station and stopped. The boy started out in search of the fair. To the market place he went. Crowds were there. It was a gay sight. Booths were everywhere. There were merry-go-rounds and swinging boats and shooting galleries and candy stands.

Children were all about, laughing, singing, eating. Philippe's eye was trained, and he knew market places. He had spent most of his life in one. So he found a spot for himself and began to dress the dog, Trompke.