Part 2

Arriving at the corner of a street that crossed the avenue, they were halted by an officious Garde de Ville with fierce-looking moustaches. He wore a blue uniform with a silver band on his cap, and a terrifying sabre hung by his side. Behind him stood a very dejected woman with her dog and cart, waiting until he should find time to take her to the station. Perhaps he had found that her milk was not fresh or had been watered.

“Ho! Sta stil!” commanded Mère Marie, and the dogs stopped.

Then the officer proceeded to inspect Mère Marie’s cans and to test her milk. He examined the dogs for sores and the harness to see if it chafed, and required Mère Marie to show him Luppe’s drinking-bowl and the pieces of carpet for the dogs to lie on when resting. Finding everything as it should be--for Mère Marie was a careful milkwoman--he bade them pass on, and by six o’clock they were ready for business.

Mère Marie gave Luppe and Pierrot each a drink of water and a piece of hard dog cake, and after a little rest they started on their rounds. Most of Mère Marie’s customers were in the Quartier Louise, where many of the English people live, and she seemed to be very welcome here. As the sun rose higher Pierrot found it very pleasant standing in the shade of the big lime trees and chestnuts of the Avenue Louise while Mère Marie took her bright cans to the houses. Carriages and automobiles rolled by constantly, and pleasant people passed along the sidewalk, forming a fascinating pageant for Pierrot’s entertainment. When he became restless and felt an impulse to go on without Mère Marie, Luppe, who lost no opportunity to lie down and rest, firmly restrained him. On the whole, Pierrot behaved very well for his first lesson.

And then there were many, many other dogs to be seen. It had never occurred to Pierrot that there were so many dogs in the world, and he was surprised not to find them all more excited about it. Luppe apparently paid no attention to them.

Most noticeable were the large carts of the poultrymen from Malines and other outlying villages who gathered at the covered market in the Rue Duquesnoy. To most of these carts five large dogs were harnessed, one between the shafts and two on each side; sometimes a sixth was used beneath the cart with his tugs fastened to the axle. These poultrymen travel in the night (Malines is fifteen miles from Brussels) in order to be early at market, and frequently they fall asleep on their carts, leaving the dogs to trot along unguided. The intelligent animals not only keep up their steady pace without urging, but learn to avoid all difficulties of the road by their own initiative.

Then there were milkwomen and laundresses with carts much like Mère Marie’s, drawn by one dog or two. There were bakers and peddlers of fruit and vegetables, who mostly used high carts with their dogs hitched beneath. And there were noisy, shouting mussel vendors pushing their carts before them, with a dog hitched ahead to help.

Sometimes a poor man would pass with a nondescript cart laden with kindling-wood, garbage, or what-not, drawn by an undersized, underfed mongrel who was often hard put to it to drag his load, but for the most part the dogs were fine, big, strapping fellows used to their work, and apparently enjoying it.

The dog, as a matter of fact, is not only man’s closest four-footed friend, but when set to work is his most willing slave and helper. He is often intractable, but when he works at all he works with a will. Other animals that have been harnessed and trained to do man’s work--horse, elephant, camel, mule, burro, ox, or reindeer--labour for the most part with a sort of stolid indifference and resignation. With the exception of the most intelligent elephants and horses, the dog is the only quadruped who displays a genuine interest and joy in his work. Whether hauling a canal boat in France or a sled in Alaska, he puts his heart and brain into his task and works like a man.

It did not occur to either Pierrot or Luppe to question the justice of their position. Luppe, in fact, was happiest when between the shafts. And the whole discussion as to whether or not the _chiens de trait_ are cruelly treated is more or less profitless, as it all depends on the master. Some of the owners are undoubtedly cruel, and very few of them have any real feeling for their dogs, but for the most part common sense demands good treatment; the owner is a fool who destroys the value of his own property by overwork or underfeeding, and for the most part the dogs are well fed and are kept in fine fettle for their work.

Belgium has been slow to enact prohibitory laws in these matters, but of late years a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has been active, and in some of the cities one may occasionally observe placards reading, “_Traitez les animaux avec douceur_.” And for some years past there has been, in Brussels at least, police inspection of harness to see that it does not chafe the dogs, and drivers of sore, sick, or lame dogs are at least warned.

Before noon Mère Marie had visited all her customers and sold all her milk, and Luppe knew when the route was completed and exhibited a growing interest in the prospect of home and dinner.

As they clattered across the Grande Place they found many of the poultrymen also making ready for departure. Across the square a cry would be heard, “Eui, Vos! Eui, Sus!” And off would rattle another team on the road to Malines.

Pierrot was very weary when they reached home again, due to the excitement of new experiences as much as to the work done. He was very glad to curl up on his bed and dream of carts and dogs and people and rows of houses, and Mère Marie bade the children not to disturb him.

The next day Pierrot remained at home, but the day following he travelled again to Brussels with Mère Marie and Luppe, and thereafter for many days. Little by little Mère Marie and Luppe taught him the things a cart-dog should know, and gradually he ceased to be astonished and excited by the sights and noises and smells of the city, and when he reached home he was not so weary.

There came a day when old Luppe was evidently ailing, and Père Jean thought it would be a good time to try Pierrot alone with the cart. So the next morning Mère Marie awoke Henri very early and they hitched Pierrot in Luppe’s place between the shafts. Henri was to go along with Mère Marie to see that Pierrot did not run away while she was visiting her customers.

Old Luppe arose stiffly and shakily and came over to be harnessed as usual. Mère Marie pushed him gently aside, and Luppe stood for a moment looking surprised and hurt. Then his resentment against the usurper suddenly arose and he leaped at Pierrot’s throat.

Pierrot had never been in a fight before, but he was strong and active, and instinct told him how to defend himself. He shook Luppe off and then the two dogs grappled. Pierrot was hampered by shafts and harness, but he held his own and did not attempt the aggressive. Mère Marie sent Henri running for his father, and seizing a milk-yoke tried to separate the two dogs.

Both were bleeding about the mouth but were not seriously injured when Père Jean arrived on the scene. Mère Marie held Pierrot by his harness while Père Jean managed to drag Luppe off and tie him, snarling and scolding, in the dairy.

Then Mère Marie made haste to load her cart, and soon they started out upon the road. At the sound of the departing wheels Luppe set up a long, despairing howl. Pierrot trotted proudly along, affecting not to hear, but a great sadness welled up in Henri’s breast, and there were tears in the bright eyes of Mère Marie.

The journey to Brussels seemed very long and tiresome to Henri, but he trudged along manfully beside his mother, who sought to keep up his spirits with cheery talk about the city and the people there.

Henri had driven to Brussels several times with his father, but he had never before spent so much time in the streets, and he soon forgot his weariness in the interesting sights about him. For one thing, he noticed that many of the other dogs wore muzzles, and he asked his mother about it.

“That is because they are ugly,” said Mère Marie. “They snap at people who disturb them and they try to fight other dogs.”

“But Pierrot wears no muzzle,” said Henri.

“That is because he is gentle,” said Mère Marie. “If you make a friend of your dog, and never beat him except when he is very bad, and talk to him a great deal, he becomes very like a person and does not want to bite any one.”

The Belgian cart-dogs are naturally good-natured, but their life has made them generally combative. When their masters take the trouble to treat them as comrades from puppyhood, they become exceedingly devoted and affectionate. Such a dog was Pierrot. He did not know what it was to have an enemy, and his love for Père Jean and Mère Marie and Gran’père and Henri and wee Lisa had grown as naturally as his big muscles and rough coat.

Toward the middle of the forenoon Henri grew weary again and began sitting on the curb beside Pierrot whenever his mother left him. So Mère Marie decided that he needed a little diversion.

“See,” said she, “here are _mes amies, les petites marchandes de journaux_. You will make friends with them while Pierrot and I visit Madame Courtois. It is a quiet street and Pierrot will not run away. We will soon return.”

In a little round stall at the corner sat two pretty young girls sewing and chatting together behind their piles of magazines and newspapers. They looked up with smiles and greeted Mère Marie gayly as she approached. They, too, were from the South and spoke French rather than Flemish. Henri liked them at once.

“This is my little Henri,” said Mère Marie to the newsgirls, “and his legs have become fatigued. May he sit with you while I visit Madame Courtois?”

Both girls laughed merrily at nothing at all and made a place for Henri on the narrow bench between them, while Mère Marie and Pierrot started up a side street. One of the girls had dimples in her cheeks and the other had curly hair which blew about her ears.

“Where is the old dog to-day?” asked one of the girls.

“He is ill,” replied Henri.

“And the young dog has learned to take his place?”

Henri nodded very solemnly. “Oh, yes,” said he, “we have taught him.”

Whereat both girls laughed again.

Soon they were all very good friends and Henri was telling them all about Luppe and Pierrot and Medard and Lisa and Gran’père and the yellow bird in its wooden cage. When Mère Marie and Pierrot returned, Henri was feeling much rested but rather hungry, and one of the girls gave him a pear from her basket.

Henri turned and waved his hand to them as Mère Marie led him away, and the girls laughed and shouted after them: “_Au revoir_, Mère Marie! _Au revoir_, Henri! _Au revoir, Monsieur le Chien!_” And Henri laughed, too, for that was a very droll way to address Pierrot.

The cart was lighter going home, so Mère Marie allowed Henri to ride part of the way, and Pierrot trotted or walked steadily along like the willing worker he was getting to be.

That day Luppe was better, but Père Jean thought he had best have a good rest; so he was given a comfortable bed of straw in an unused stall in the little thatched stable, and Mère Marie and Henri and Pierrot went again to the city without him. And again Luppe howled at their departure and was very despondent all day.

One cannot say whether Luppe died of a broken heart or whether it was his advancing years and the rheumatism. Père Jean did not realize what it meant to Luppe to be deprived of his work in life; and, anyway, what else could he have done? The poor old dog failed rapidly. He would not eat, and he scarcely responded to the attentions which the whole family showered upon him. Only on the last day his eyes followed Gran’père about with dumb pleading in them; and when Gran’père at last knelt beside him, Luppe painfully dragged himself up into the old man’s arms, and, with a great sigh, died.

Mère Marie and Henri and Lisa all wept, Lisa the loudest, and Gran’père and Père Jean were both very quiet and sober. It is not fitting that a man should mourn a dog as he mourns a brother or even a cross old uncle, but sometimes a dying dog leaves just as deep a feeling of loss. Luppe, with all his little faults, had been one of the family for so long that home would never seem quite the same again without him.

They buried him under the grapevine, in a sheltered spot, and many a human grave has been watered by less genuine tears. Then Lisa brought blue cornflowers and red poppies and laid them on the little mound, and they all went silently back to the house.

Thus was old Luppe gathered to his fathers and young Pierrot reigned in his stead.

III

It was not long after old Luppe’s death that a terrible thing happened. Père Jean came in one afternoon with a piece of yellow paper which he and Mère Marie and Gran’père studied very gravely for a long time. The children were sent to bed early but they could hear their elders talking until very late. They could not imagine what it meant, but when Henri woke up once in the night he heard Mère Marie weeping, which was strange, for she was usually so cheerful. Perhaps she was thinking about Luppe.

In Brussels there seemed to be more excitement than usual, and nearly every one bought papers of the pretty newsgirls at the corner. All were serious looking and many appeared to be frightened. Also there were soldiers marching through the streets, which was a grand sight to Henri.

It was from the newsgirls that Henri at last learned what it was all about. It was war, which of course explained the soldiers. Henri’s heart leaped as he watched them in the hope that he might see some fighting, but he was a little frightened, too. On the way home he plied his mother with questions, but she was very quiet and he did not learn much from her.

At last he found out that Père Jean, who had once served a term in the army, had been called to the colours and attached to a company of reserves. Every day he had to leave the farm and the dairy in Gran’père’s hands and go away to drill. On these occasions he wore a uniform which, while not quite so gay as the one he wore in the band, was more martial looking. This made Henri very proud, but Mère Marie had not much to say about it.

Once, when Henri stayed at home to help Gran’père, they heard a great sound of tramping and went out to see what it was. Up the road a cloud of dust appeared and through it the legs of many men all moving together and the glint of sun on steel. Presently the soldiers came, hundreds and hundreds of them, marching past the little dairy farm toward Brussels. Henri wanted to cheer, but Gran’père seemed so stern that he refrained. Together they stood beside the road, old man and little boy, very straight and rigid, saluting solemnly as the officers rode past. It was all most impressive.

Henri continued to go to the city frequently with Mère Marie, not because Pierrot was likely to misbehave, for he had learned his lessons well, but because Mère Marie more and more wanted him with her. Everywhere he heard talk of the great war and learned to keep his ears open. The Germans had come and there was fighting at Liège--though Henri did not in the least know where Liège might be. Every one was proud of the brave men who were holding the forts, and Henri could understand something of that. He was proud, too, especially as his father was a soldier, though he did not understand why Père Jean had not been fighting and winning battles. Wounded men were occasionally brought in to Brussels, and Mère Marie seemed much troubled by the sight of them. Henri wanted very much to question them about fighting but was given no opportunity.

Then came the day when the terrible news that Liège had fallen sent Brussels into a fever of excitement. Some of Mère Marie’s customers packed up and moved away to Antwerp or Ostend or England, so that Pierrot’s route grew shorter. There seemed to be fear that the Germans might appear at any moment.

“The French!” cried the people in despair. “Where are they?”

When Mère Marie and Henri reached home that day Père Jean was waiting nervously in his uniform, with his rifle and accoutrements ready.

“We have been called to the front,” said he. “The Germans must be kept from Brussels.”

Not much more was said; it was not a time for talking. Père Jean kissed them all, even old Gran’père, and said good-bye, and hurried off down the road. Mère Marie was very brave and did not weep till he had gone. Then she pressed Henri and wee Lisa close to her and sobbed bitterly, which made the children cry, too, and Pierrot, who had not been unharnessed, came dragging his cart and thrust his moist nose among them in sympathy. But Gran’père stood alone by the road, looking toward Brussels, his shoulders squared and his lips closed in a thin line.

Then terrible events took place very rapidly: The Belgians could not hold back the Germans and Père Jean and the rest were forced to fall back to Antwerp. The Gardes de Ville in Brussels advised Mère Marie not to come to town any more, so they said good-bye to the pretty newsgirls and their other friends and tried to explain the matter to Pierrot who complained the next morning because he was not harnessed to his cart.

That is why they were not in town when the news came that Louvain had been destroyed and many peaceful people who were not soldiers at all had been shot. But the news was not long in reaching the dairy farm, and Mère Marie turned very white. Some of their neighbours packed up their belongings and drove away, but Gran’père and Mère Marie did not know where to go, so they stayed at home.

Three Belgian soldiers came and drove off Medard and all the cows except one spotted heifer, and gave Mère Marie a receipt, saying that she would be paid some time. They all knew the Germans would soon be there, so it didn’t matter much; and with only one cow to milk and no trip to make to town there was less work to do. Gran’père, with the help of Mère Marie and Henri and Pierrot, began to harvest such of their small crops as he could.

On August 18th a frightened neighbour brought word that the King had left for Antwerp and that Brussels was in the hands of the Germans.

“Why cannot we go to Antwerp, _lieve moeder_,” asked Henri, “and be with the King and Père Jean and the soldiers?”

But Mère Marie only shook her head; she could not speak.

Of all this Pierrot understood but little. He only knew that he missed the pleasant clatter of the milk-cart at his heels, and the shade of the lime trees on the Avenue Louise, and all the interesting sounds and smells of the city, and the sweet laughter of _les petites marchandes de journaux_. Also he missed the strong, kind hands and deep voice of Père Jean. But he, too, was soon to learn something of the meaning of war.

A few years before a regiment of _carabiniers_ had started to use dogs to haul small supply carts and _mitrailleuses_ or machine-guns. They are the soldiers who wear dark green uniforms with narrow yellow braid and yellow badges, wide-collared overcoats in winter, and queer, high-crowned hats with chin straps and plumes of glossy, green-black cock feathers sprouting from green and yellow rosettes. That is, of course, the parade hat. In action they wear little round caps or take the feathers out of their hats and cover them with black oilcloth. The experiment with dogs proved successful, and now that there seemed a prospect of much fighting and marching in the rough country the army decided to extend this branch of the service and began to commandeer hundreds of strong, well-trained _chiens de trait_.

Just before the first Uhlan appeared at the Van Huyk farm a Belgian carbineer came very hurriedly one morning and led Pierrot away. The dog resisted at first but soon found he had got to go and trotted off up the road by the soldier’s side. The children clung to his rough neck and wept until Mère Marie dragged them into the house, but Gran’père stood very straight and still and put his hand to his forehead when the soldier and Pierrot marched away. The last thing Pierrot saw as he turned back at the bend in the road was the stiff, brave figure of the old man standing before the little farmhouse, and the last thing he heard was the wild wailing of wee Lisa who could not understand and would not be comforted.

Pierrot and the carbineer were soon joined by other soldiers with other dogs, and they all hurried along the strange roads together. It was a long journey, more than twenty miles, for they made a wide detour around Brussels, passing north through Anderlecht.

When they arrived at last at Malines Pierrot was placed in an enclosure with many other dogs. They were not used to being together in this way, and two men had to go about among them with whips to keep them from fighting. But Pierrot, who was always friendly, found this contact with his kind rather pleasant, though he was greatly perplexed by it all and wanted to go home.

At night the dogs were fed and given straw to lie upon, but none of them slept well in the new surroundings, and their guards were tired and irritable before morning.

After daybreak soldiers came and took out the dogs two by two. Finally a big, bearded carbineer named Conrad Orts approached Pierrot. He patted Pierrot’s head, opened his mouth to look at his teeth, and ran his hand down the hairy back and legs, as Père Jean used to do, and Pierrot liked him. Also he seemed to like Pierrot, for he smiled, and said, “_Un bon garçon_.” Then he selected a big, strong, surly looking dog named Jef, so Pierrot afterward learned, and led the two dogs on leashes out into an open field where there were tents and carts and piles of boxes and bundles and much bustling about.

They came to a strange little cart the like of which Pierrot had never seen before. It was a rapid-fire machine-gun mounted on two bicycle wheels. In place of shafts there was a single tongue with two collars fastened at the end, one on each side. One of these Conrad snapped about Pierrot’s neck and the other about Jef’s, and then fastened the traces. Then he trotted them about for a few moments till he seemed satisfied. The gun and carriage weighed less than 200 pounds altogether, which was a very easy load for two strong dogs on level ground. Other dogs were being harnessed to similar vehicles, only some of them had ammunition boxes in place of the little cannon. Then Conrad tied the dogs and went in search of the two soldiers who had brought them, in order that he might learn their names, which was a wise thing for him to do.

For a day or two Conrad Orts spent much time training Jef and Pierrot, taking them through water and over all kinds of rough country that they might be ready for anything. Commands in the Belgian army are given mostly in French, which was strange to Pierrot, for Gran’père and Père Jean had taught him Flemish words. So he had to learn the meaning of such commands as “Halte-là!” “Marche!” and “Va vite!” But he and Jef soon learned to obey Conrad even when he did not hold the reins, pulling the little cannon with a will across creeks and up and down steep banks, and dashing with it through thickets where neither horses nor automobiles could have gone. The dogs soon discovered each other’s ways and learned to save their strength for the hard places and to pull well together. And in spite of Jef’s taciturnity, Pierrot found him to be an honest fellow, always ready to do his share of the work, and he came to like him. Conrad seemed much pleased with them both.