“‘Yes, but they were men while you are but a child, Mattia.’

“‘Other mothers’ sons have gone to war, mother; other mothers’ sons will never come back.  They have been shot in the war.’

“Mattia’s mother, however, refused to give her consent, and the little patriot was obliged to remain at home, yet with his purpose of fighting for France still firmly fixed in his mind.  One day he would go, he told himself, and one day he would show them that even a child could do a man’s part.

“Early in the following spring Mattia’s mother grew ill and died.  The little fellow grieved for her until his face grew wan and pale.  He was now left in the care of an uncle who was not very kind to him.  After a month had passed in which Mattia had continued his study of the war map, he determined to leave the home of his uncle and once more try to reach his brothers.

“One evening a troop train halted at the little village.  This was the boy’s opportunity.  Watching his chance, he slipped into one of the coaches and crawled up to the luggage rack and lay down, making himself as inconspicuous as possible.  But, alas, he was discovered and dragged out by a station employe who had seen him enter the car.

“This ended Mattia’s going to war for some time to come.  He found no opportunity to do so until nearly a month later, when he decided to leave his uncle’s home again and take his chances.  This time he planned well and carefully.  Providing himself with food he set out one evening after he was supposed to be in bed and asleep, and, proceeding to the railroad, started walking along it.  This, he had found, was the most direct route to the front.

“Mattia’s uncle did not take enough interest in his nephew’s disappearance to have a search made for him.  For days after that the lad continued his journey on foot, stopping at farmhouses and doing little odd jobs that were the means of providing meals for him.  One day, to his great happiness, he came up with the rear of one of the armies of his beloved country.

“The boy plodded in among the troops, for this was a rest camp that he had stumbled upon, some miles distant from the front.  An officer, observing that he was a civilian, halted him in the street of the village where the rest camp was situated.

“‘Where are you going, boy?’ the officer demanded.

“‘To the war with you,’ answered Mattia promptly.

“‘What!  To war, at your age?  It is impossible.  Where is your home?’

“Mattia told him.

“’My mother is dead, as is my father, and my brothers are fighting at
Verdun.  Mattia has only his country left to love now.  Where is
Verdun?’

“‘You poor little patriot,’ answered the officer sympathetically.  ’Verdun is yonder where you see the smoke and where the big guns are in action.  You can hear them now.’

“The boy nodded.

“’But you are too young to fight.  It is not permissible.  Wait!  You have no family left at home?’