Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 151, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 July 1917 — Belgium Day” [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Belgium Day”

By Elizabeth Schoen Cobb

(Copyright, 1917, by W. G. Chapman.) "I’d rather play high-spy,” said nine-year-old Velda Barrett. “Or jump rope,” supplemented Esther Wilder. “No, not You don’t understand,” cried Grace Drummond. “Stupid heads! It isn’t play tag that I’m talking about” “What is it then?” demanded Velda. “Tag day.” “What’s that?” Inquired Esther. “For the Belgiums,” explained Grace, wisely. “Yes, that is what my mamma told me—the suffering Belgiums.” “What are they suffering about?” asked wonder-eyed Esther. , “War,” announced Grace oracularly. "The people who aren’t their friends have killed all the men folks, and burned all the houses, and sent the poor ladies and children out in the snow. So they need help, and mamma and all the other ladies of the town are going to raise money for them. Auntie Madge and my big sisters sat up nearly all night making red, white and blue badges. Then they have pasteboard boxes with a hole in them. When they tag a man, he puts money into the box, and they get all the boxes together and send them to the Belgiums to buy bread and shoes and ■candy with.”

“But they won’t let us play the game,” declared Velda dubiously. “That’s why I said this was a secret,” observed little Grace saplently. "You don’t lisp a word about this to anyone, but be here about nine o’clock . tomorrow morning, dressed up in your best, and I’ll have everything fixed to celebrate Tag day.” Grace mysteriously beckoned her two confederates to the barn when they appeared next morning. “All the folks have gone,” she explained, “except the maid, and she’s gone to sleep on the sofa. See here,” and Grace opened a newspaper filled with scraps of red, white and blue ribbons. “Now here’s a lot of pins,

and we must make up all the badges there is ribbon for. See? There’s a heap of them, isn’t there?” jubilantly exclaimed Grace, as they utilized the last bit of ribbon. “See, I got a flag,” and she produced a small silk one that haff ornamented a picture in the parlor of a venerable family hero. “Now, Velda, you are to carry the badges in this basket. Here’s the money box, Esther. You’ll hold that,” and having found no other suitable receptacle, Grace produced a great hat-box with a jagged slit cut in its top. “I’ll go ahead with the flag and run up to people and tell them ‘Tag!’" “Oh, it will be lots of fun 1” exulted Velda and Esther in unison. “But we mustn’t go downtown,” warned Grace sagely. “Why not?” asked Esther. “Because If our folks see us, they’ll send us home. We’re going down the turnpike and stop at the houses apd hall the people in automobiles and farm wagops, Come on, now.” It was after they had got well free of the town that Grace patriotically unfurled the flag and led the little procession. The first person they met was a jolly-faced young farmer wheeling a barrow filled with vegetables. Grace ran upWo him. “Tag!" she snouted, touching hinr on the arm, ana Velda and Esther surrounded their victim, the former proceeding to pin a rosette on his homespun jacket while Esther held out the box. “Hello! I heard about this new racket," grinned the young fellow, and he poked in his pocket, brought out a dime and popped it into the hat box. Automobiles, hay wagons, pedestrians —the variety and excitement kept the tiny collectors in high feather during the next two hours. They halted everybody they met, and in nearly every instance received a contribution. “Myj but we have gone miles and miles!"? panted Grace, as they came to

a stretch of woodland and she led her companions to a fallen log in the shade at the side of the road. “I’m getting awful hungry,” remarked Velda. "Me, too,” chorused Esther. “Where did you get the pretty chain and locket, Grace?” “Oh, I bWrowed It, and I must get it back where I found it before Auntie Madge comes home, or she may be angry with me. The big folks fixed all up, so I thought I’d wear this and appear like a grown-up lady. I found it hidden away in an old glove-box, in among some letters and a lot of faded rose leaves. Aunt Madge never wears it, but she must think a lot of it to keep it hidden away, maybe for years.” Then the wearied little patronesses began to recline full length on the ground, and sleep came. Velda awoke first She shook her sleepy comrades as she sniffed the air, and directed their attention to ten automobiles halted just off the road and a camp fire in among the timber, with fully fifty men bustling about. “Oh, look I look I” she cried; and “um-m! coffee —they’re cooking it A picnic. Oh, dear. I’m so hungry!” Grace rubbed her eyes and took in the situation. It was, indeed, a picnic from the city, an annual “nature feast” of a group of salesmen in a great wholesale establishment of the metropolis. “Oh, I know!” cried Grace, after a moment’s thought “We'll tag them, and maybe they’ll invite us to dinner.” Which was just what happened. The novelty of the little collectors appealed magically to the sensibilities of the jolly crowd. All contributed and everyone with a bank note. Then the three little ones were given a comfortable log seat at the repast.

There was one of them, a seriousfaced man of about thirty, who kept his glance fixed upon Grace. It seemed as though something familiar or unusually attractive in the child appealed to him strongly. The meal was just over, when Grace, lifting her haqd to her throat, missed the necklace. She began to cry, and wailed forth her sorrow. The young man searched the spot where Grace had sat, and found the missing article. He turned pale as he looked at the inscription it bore. “See here, fellows,” he said, greatly shaken, but attempting to conceal his emotions, “these little ones can’t tramp it all the way back to town. Besides, all that money might be a temptation to some footpad. I’ll take the machine and deliver them safe home.” “Little one,” he said to Grace, who sat by his side In the automobile, “is that your necklace?” “Oh, no; it beFongs to Auntie Madge. I just borrowed it.” “Auntie Madge—what?” urged the young man, his voice trembling. “Auntie Madge Williston, of course,” and her auditor gave a great gasp and was silent until they reached the Drummond home.

“Oh, if it should be true!" breathed Norman Marsh. “If this should be true, that his fiancee of five years back was to be discovered by him after long, patient searching. They had quarreled and when he sought her again her family haff left the town with no trace as to their new place of residence.” Mrs. Drummond and Auntie Madge had just returned home as the automobile drove up in front of the house. “Oh, mamma, see! we’ve just got all the money in all the world for the Belgiums!” and Grace leaped from the machine and tore off the cover of the hatbox and displayed the treasure within. With a start Madge Williston met the gaze of the driver of the machine. She swayed and caught at her sister for support. Then he was by her side, incoherently pouring into her welcome ears the story of his long sorrow and longings. And out of “Belgium Day” tiny Grace won the palm as the prize collector, and Madge Williston a loving, loyal husband.

"Fore the Belgiums,” Explained Grace, Wisely,