“You shall not come through!” he whispered, “I will not run!”

At that moment, he heard a far-off shout.  Far in the distance he saw a black something on the road, and dust.  The men were coming!  At last, they were coming.  They came nearer, fast, and he could make out his own father, and the neighbours.  They had pickaxes and shovels, and they were running.  And as they ran they shouted, “We’re coming; take heart, we’re coming!”

The next minute, it seemed, they were there.  And when they saw Hans, with his pale face, and his hand tight in the dike, they gave a great cheer,—­just as people do for soldiers back from war; and they lifted him up and rubbed his aching arm with tender hands, and they told him that he was a real hero and that he had saved the town.

When the men had mended the dike, they marched home like an army, and Hans was carried high on their shoulders, because he was a hero.  And to this day the people of Haarlem tell the story of how a little boy saved the dike.

THE LAST LESSON[1]

[Footnote 1:  Adapted from the French of Alphonse Daudet.]

Little Franz didn’t want to go to school, that morning.  He would much rather have played truant.  The air was so warm and still,—­you could hear the blackbird singing at the edge of the wood, and the sound of the Prussians drilling, down in the meadow behind the old sawmill.  He would so much rather have played truant!  Besides, this was the day for the lesson in the rule of participles; and the rule of participles in French is very, very long, and very hard, and it has more exceptions than rule.  Little Franz did not know it at all.  He did not want to go to school.

But, somehow, he went.  His legs carried him reluctantly into the village and along the street.  As he passed the official bulletin-board before the town hall, he noticed a little crowd round it, looking at it.  That was the place where the news of lost battles, the requisition for more troops, the demands for new taxes were posted.  Small as he was, little Franz had seen enough to make him think, “What now, I wonder?” But he could not stop to see; he was afraid of being late.

When he came to the school-yard his heart beat very fast; he was afraid he was late, after all, for the windows were all open, and yet he heard no noise,—­the schoolroom was perfectly quiet.  He had been counting on the noise and confusion before school,—­the slamming of desk covers, the banging of books, the tapping of the master’s cane and his “A little less noise, please,”—­to let him slip quietly into his seat unnoticed.  But no; he had to open the door and walk up the long aisle, in the midst of a silent room, with the master looking straight at him.  Oh, how hot his cheeks felt, and how hard his heart beat!  But to his great surprise the master didn’t scold at all.  All he said was, “Come quickly to your place, my little Franz; we were just going to begin without you!”