go hungry. But remember
always that it is not only those who face the foe on the battle line who
can serve the fatherland!"
He drew himself up again.
"Farewell, then, mes enfants!" he said. "I go to meet again those other
children I am to lead! Vive la France!"
For a moment, as he moved to the door, there was silence.
And it was Frank Barnes, only half French, who jumped to the top of a
desk and raised his voice in the most stirring of all patriotic airs--the
Marseillaise.
With a will they joined him, English, American and French, for all
were there. Slowly, still singing, they followed the master from the
class-room, and gathered outside in the open air of the school yard.
And from other rooms, from all over the school, masters and boys
poured out to join them and to swell the chorus. Outside, in the street, a
passing battalion of the infantry of the line, made up of smiling young
soldiers, heard and took up the chorus, singing as they marched.
There was no need of questions from those who heard the singing. In a
moment the discipline of the school went by the board. And, when the
song was done, they still remained together, waiting. In ten minutes, M.
Donnet appeared from the door of his own house. But now he was
transformed. He was in the uniform of his rank, his sword was by his
side; a servant carried his bags. He strode through the ranks of cheering
boys to the gate, saluting right and left as he did so.
CHAPTER III
THE CALL TO ARMS
"This does not yet mean war!"
So M. Donnet had cried, in a final word of warning, meaning, if
possible, to do his part in the government's plan, still in force, of
restraining the passions of the French people. No. It did not mean war.
Not quite. But it meant that war was inevitable; that within a few hours,
at the most, mobilization would be ordered. This was on Saturday. And
that evening Germany declared war on Russia. Within an hour posters
were everywhere. The general mobilization had been ordered.
The teachers in that school were young men. On the word they went.
Each knew what he had to do. Each had his little book of instructions.
He needed no orders. The mere fact that mobilization had been ordered
was all he needed to know. He knew already where he must report,
where his uniform and his equipment would be given to him, and
which regiment he was to join. He was a soldier by virtue of the three
years, or the two, he had spent already with the colors. He did not have
to be drilled; all that had been done. He knew how to shoot, how to live
in camp, how to march. If he was a cavalryman, he knew how to ride; if
an artilleryman, how to handle the big guns.
And as with the teachers, so it was with the other men about the
school,--the gardeners, the servants, all of them. Within an hour of the
time when the order was issued, they were on their way and the school
was deserted, save for boys and one or two old men, who bewailed the
fact that they were too old to fight. In the streets St. Denis looked like a
deserted village. All the young men were going.
Swiftly preparations were made to close the school. Madame Donnet,
left in charge when her husband went, called the boys together.
"You must get home," she said. "Here you cannot stay. There will be
no way to care for you. And soon, too, the school will be used as a
hospital. So it was in 1870. I shall stay, and I shall prepare for what is
to come. M. Donnet telegraphed yesterday to all the parents, bidding
them be ready for what has come. I will give money for traveling
expenses. And in happier times we shall meet again."
Save for the friendly offer Henri had already made, Frank Barnes might
well have been in a sorry plight. And, indeed, he offered now to let his
chum withdraw his invitation.
"I have plenty of money, Harry," he said. "And if I go into Paris, to the
American ambassador, or the consul, he will see that I am all right until
my uncle comes. Your family won't want a guest now."
But Harry wouldn't hear of this.
"Now more than ever!" he said. "It will be different. True--not as we
had planned it before this came. But you shall come, and perhaps we
shall be able to do something for France with the Boy Scouts. We shall
see. But this much is certain--I think we shall not
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