It was a strange school, but it was safer than their
home, even though there was danger in going back and forth in the
streets. By spring the children of Rheims had lived so much in
cellars that they were as pale as potato-sprouts.
Mother Meraut watched her two with deepening anxiety. Then, one
day in the spring, a corner of their own roof was blown off by a
shell. No one was hurt, but when a few moments later a second
explosion blew a cat through the hole and dropped it into the
soup, Mother Meraut's endurance gave way.
It was the last straw! She put the cat out, yowling but unharmed,
and silently cleared away the debris. Then, when the bombardment
was over, she put on her bonnet and went out. She came back an
hour later, to find the Twins sitting, one on each side of their
Father, holding his hands, and all three the picture of despair.
Mother Meraut stood before them, her eyes flashing, her cheeks
burning a deep red, and this is what she said: "I will not live
like this another day. Life in Rheims is no longer possible. I
will not stay here to be killed by inches. I have made
arrangements to get a little row-boat, and to-morrow morning we
will take such things as we can carry and leave this place.
Whatever may happen to us elsewhere, it cannot be worse than what
is happening here, and it may possibly be better."
Her husband and children looked at her in amazement. She did not
ask their opin- ion about the matter, but promptly began the
necessary preparations and told them what to do.
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