Little Philippe of Belgium

Philippe could only smile at such stupidity. To think that a little whining dog could keep people away! But the man seemed nervous.

So Philippe said, "Just wait, sir. I will have the crowds here in a short time. Come, Rose; let us sing!"

Little Rose stood upon the counter. She looked like a big doll. Her golden curls shone in the sunlight. Philippe stood by her side, and together they sang in voices clear and sweet. They sang the little nonsense song that Philippe had made up for his sister. It ran:

"I wouldn't be an artichoke,And have my heart torn out,I wouldn't be a lettuce,With my head thrown all about,I'd hate to be a cornstalk,For folk my ears would pull;Potatoes must feel dreadful'Cause with dirt their eyes are full."

A few people began to wander over to the vegetable booth. They stood and watched the two children. They smiled at the quaint little vegetable boy, and looked admiringly at the pretty baby. Then the children began their second stanza, as more and more people gathered around the booth.

"It must be hard for spinach, too;His leaves are never read;Poor mushroom, with the fairy folkAll sitting on his head!Old Mr. Onion grieves so much.He makes us all boohoo!I'm glad I'm not a vegetable,But just a child. Aren't you?"

Many people had now crowded round and some began to buy vegetables. Philippe was kept busy serving them. Baby Rose smiled and dimpled at everyone. She sang other songs that Philippe had made up. Then she sang "The Brabançonne" (brȧ-bän-sōn'), Belgium's national anthem.

The vegetables were slowly disappearing. But from the booth next door, not a vegetable was bought. Philippe cast a look in the direction of the tall dark man, who was standing with his arms folded.

Philippe looked down at the man's vegetables. For the first time he noticed that they were not fresh. They were wilted and stale.

"It is no wonder the people do not buy," thought Philippe.

But he felt sorry, nevertheless. When the crowd had left, and the selling was over, he turned to the man.

"I am sorry," he said. "But – "

Philippe was going to tell him that people will not buy stale vegetables. But the man interrupted him.

"Thank you, but I do not need your advice," he said.

"THANK YOU, BUT I DO NOT NEED YOUR ADVICE," HE SAID

Philippe watched him as he began to throw his vegetables into a barrel and prepare to leave. He whistled as he did so.

Philippe lifted Rose from the counter and they, too, made preparations for departure.

All the way home, the boy seemed to see before him that stranger's face.

When the children reached home, a surprise awaited them.

"Papa Pomme is home! Hurrah!" cried Philippe.

Sometimes Papa Pomme came home to dinner, and that was a great treat. But this evening Papa Pomme looked grave. He began to talk with Mother Yvelle. Philippe listened.

"They say that this thief has stolen from several farms about here," said Papa Pomme. "You had better warn Emile to watch."

"A thief, Papa?" asked Philippe, whose eyes were very big.

"Yes, my boy," Papa Pomme replied. "A man who goes about at night stealing vegetables from people's farms – a vegetable thief. I wish they could catch him. It is very hard for the poor farmers to have their produce stolen. This thief is a wicked man."

Philippe suddenly thought of his dark neighbor in the market place. Could it be – ? Oh, no.

Still there were those stale vegetables. But Philippe refused to think of such a thing.

"Papa," he asked, "if this thief is caught, what will they do with him?"

"They will put him in prison, my son," answered Papa Pomme.

Chapter IV

ZELIE

Philippe did not know how nearly right he had been. He had wondered whether his neighbor in the market place could be the thief.

But Philippe did not like to think evil of people, so he drove away that thought. But the tall dark man was really the vegetable thief.

Next day when Philippe arrived at the Grande Place, he looked for his neighbor. Yes, there was the man with another load of stale vegetables. He was piling them upon his counter.

Today Philippe noticed that there was a little girl with him. She was helping him spread out the wilted vegetables. Philippe did not know that during the night this evil man had stolen those vegetables from a poor farmer.

He had stolen them and now he had brought them to the market place to sell. They were not fresh like Philippe's vegetables, because the thief did not know how to take care of them.

The little girl with Philippe's neighbor glanced shyly at the boy. She was dark like the man. But her face was not like his. It was sweet and pretty.

Suddenly Philippe was surprised to hear the man call out cheerily: "Good morning to you, friend, and to the little golden-haired singing bird."

The man had changed from the day before. Philippe now rather liked his weather-beaten face. It was all wrinkled with smiles.

"Good morning to you, sir," answered Philippe.

"This is Zelie, my little daughter," said the fellow, still smiling. "Zelie, go over and shake hands with the boy and with the little singing bird. You must get acquainted."

Zelie obeyed. She seemed a shy but pleasant little girl. She was a year or so younger than Philippe. Her black hair hung straight from under a gypsy-like bandanna. She wore earrings in her ears. Her eyes were black, but they did not flash. They smiled at Philippe.

The two children talked. Philippe found Zelie bright and interesting. She had traveled a great deal. She spoke of her travels about the country.

THE TWO CHILDREN TALKED

While the morning passed, the two children became friends.

As before, the boy and his sister sold their fresh fine vegetables. People gathered around their booth and clapped for their singing. But nobody stopped to buy from the man beside them.

Still, instead of being jealous of Philippe, the stranger kept smiling at his neighbor. When the crowd had gone and it was time to start for home, the man came over to Philippe's booth.

"Did my Zelie tell you of her travels?" he asked Philippe.

"Oh, yes," replied the boy eagerly. "What great fortune to be able to wander about the country as you do, sir!"

The man looked at Philippe with those flashing eyes.

Then he said, "You could do so, too. You and the singing bird could earn great sums of money wandering about and singing. Why not go?"

Philippe started. Such a thing had never entered his mind. Though he had dreamed of adventure and travel, it had been only a dream.

"Oh, I couldn't, sir," he answered. "My mother would not let me go."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the man good-naturedly. "It would not be hard to persuade her. Tell her that Zelie and I will take you with us and you will be as safe and comfortable as you are at home."

Philippe wrinkled his brow. Then he began to prepare to go home. Somehow, this plan was a little startling. Still, it did tempt him.

He seemed to like the man much better today. Zelie, too, was a splendid companion. All the way home Philippe thought hard.

As the days passed, he grew to like Zelie and her father more and more. Zelie showed Philippe many delightful souvenirs from many parts of Belgium. She had also journeyed to other countries and spoke of those lands.

She was always sweet and happy. But Philippe sometimes wondered why there was a frightened look in her eyes. That frightened look came when she was with her father. She seemed to lose it when she sat talking with Philippe.

The man, whose name was Tom, asked Philippe one day, "Will you teach Zelie to sing your songs? They are so clever and bright."

"Certainly, sir," promised Philippe.

So he taught Zelie all of the little songs that he and Rose sang.

Today the sun was shining in the market place, and birds were singing. Philippe felt full of gladness. He met Zelie and her father, who had a smile on his face.

"What a fine day for traveling!" he cried. "How I should like to start out and wander to far places!"

Tom's sly eyes beamed. He slapped Philippe on the back lightly.

"That is just what Zelie and I are planning," he said. "Tomorrow we leave. Why could not you and the singing bird go with us?

"We shall go to every part of Belgium and take along our big organ. Zelie will play the organ, while you and Baby Rose sing."

Philippe's heart pounded. Yes, why not? He looked at Zelie. He thought she must be delighted. But he was amazed to see a look of fear in her little dark face.

"What luck!" he cried. "Are you not pleased, Zelie?"

"If you would come it might be jolly," the girl answered.

"Why not?" again thought Philippe. He said, "I'll ask my mother and father tonight. I shall tell you in the morning."

"Good!" Tom smiled. "Zelie and I can wait until the following day to start our journey. Then we four shall set out together."

That night Philippe asked his parents if he might go traveling with Tom and Zelie.

"This is a strange man," said Papa Pomme. "How do you know that he may not be a wicked man? Besides, a wandering life is a hard one, and Baby Rose is too young."

"But I am old and strong, Papa Pomme," begged Philippe. "I shall make great sums of money, too. Do, do let me go."

"Not yet, little cabbage," said Papa Pomme.

"NOT YET, LITTLE CABBAGE"

Philippe's dream was shattered. He cried himself to sleep that night.

The next day in the market place Tom met the children with an eager question.

"Well? Do we start tomorrow?" he asked.

"My father will not let me go," Philippe said.

The man scowled.

"Foolish," he frowned, "foolish! It would bring you money, and you could make your parents rich."

Philippe scowled, too.

"Yes," he agreed, "I told my father. But still he refuses to allow me to go."

"It is too bad," the man said. He shrugged his shoulders. "But Zelie and I must leave tomorrow. And maybe some day you will decide to join us."

Philippe wondered what Tom meant.

"You know you are a big boy now," Tom continued. "It is a shame for you to waste your time sitting in a market place selling vegetables."

He winked at Philippe slyly, and then started to whistle. Oh, how lucky was this Tom, thought Philippe; and the little girl, Zelie, too! But still Philippe noticed that Zelie's eyes were sad.

Chapter V

NEW FRIENDS

Philippe lay in bed and thought of Tom and of Zelie. Yes, mostly he thought of Zelie. He would never see her again. Tom was taking her away in the morning. What a pity!

She was the most interesting little friend the boy had ever had. Now he would be lonely again. Rose was still so young.

Of course, he had his books. But he did so long to wander through the country. It was summer time, and there was no school. Oh, happy Zelie!

HE DID SO LONG TO WANDER THROUGH THE COUNTRY

"But was she really happy?" Philippe wondered.

She had once told him that she had to push the big organ about while they begged their way.

It was a heavy thing, that organ, and Philippe had asked, "Doesn't it tire you, Zelie?"

Zelie had looked quickly at her father and had caught Tom's gleaming eye.

"No," she had replied, "it is fun."

Philippe had envied her. If he might go along, he could push the organ for her. He was strong. And he might help Tom, too.

Philippe did not know what his friend Tom was doing just at this moment. As Philippe lay in his comfortable little bed, he did not know that Tom was stealing his father's vegetables. Philippe did not know that poor Zelie was right under the window with Tom, helping to steal Papa Pomme's vegetables.

The next morning Emile Spinach ran into the house, very much excited.

"The vegetable thief has been in the garden, sir!" he cried to Papa Pomme.

Sure enough, their little farm had been robbed.

When Philippe and Rose arrived at the market place, the booth next to theirs was empty.

Of course Philippe never dreamed that Tom was the thief. He missed his neighbors sadly. He pictured them pushing along the organ and playing in market places all over Belgium. He thought of them strolling along the pleasant roads.

He could hear Tom's gay whistle. He could see Zelie's little dark face. He wondered whether Zelie would sing the songs he had taught her. She had a pretty voice. She was not so small and cunning as Baby Rose, but she had a charm of her own.

Philippe became discontented. He sometimes wandered about the streets instead of staying in the market place. Of course, he only did this when Emile Spinach was there to stay with Rose.

Philippe was quieter than usual.

Papa Pomme said one day to Mother Yvelle, "I am worried about the boy. He is different. Something bothers him."

"SOMETHING BOTHERS HIM"

Papa Pomme did worry about Philippe. Papa Pomme worried so much that once he put sugar in the soup and salt in the pastry. The manager of the restaurant scolded Papa Pomme.

PUT SALT IN THE PASTRY

One day Philippe was walking toward his father's restaurant. As he approached, a taxicab drove up and stopped a few doors away. Two gentlemen stepped out.

Philippe smiled as he heard one of the gentlemen ask the taxi driver, "Can you direct us to a restaurant?"

The gentleman had a very funny French accent. He continued, "We have heard so much about this delicious Belgian food. We are very hungry."

The taxi driver must have been hungry, too. He evidently wanted to be off to his own lunch.

For he replied sharply, "There are many restaurants. Just walk along any street. They can always be smelled!"

The unobliging taxi driver laughed at his own stupid joke. Then he started his motor and was off.

The two gentlemen stood for a moment looking at each other. Then one said something in a language that Philippe did not understand. But he felt sure that it was English.

The little boy walked over to the gentlemen.

"Excuse me, sirs," he began in French. "I heard you asking for a place to eat. I can take you to the best restaurant in Brussels."

The gentlemen looked at the little Belgian boy standing before them. Then one of them smiled and said something in English to the other. Philippe did not understand the words, but if you had been there you would have heard the gentleman say to his friend, "Let us take his word for it. He may know something about food. Boys usually do."

The other one laughed and said in French to Philippe, "Thank you. We shall be glad to follow you."

Of course, Philippe led the gentlemen to his father's restaurant. He held the door open for them to enter, and started to leave.

But the gentleman who spoke French said, "Come! Wouldn't you like to lunch with us? You might tell us a bit about the art of Belgian eating. What do you say?"

"Thank you," said Philippe.

He could always eat. His dreams did not prevent that.

So the two foreign gentlemen and the little Belgian boy sat down to lunch. Philippe showed them how a Belgian orders a meal. They were amused at the child's knowledge of all these fine dishes. They asked him how he knew so much. Philippe then told them about Papa Pomme.

"Aha!" exclaimed the gentleman who spoke French. "It is a fine thing for a boy to have a papa who is a chef. Is it not?"

Philippe laughed and agreed. Then the same gentleman told about himself. He said, "My friend and I are touring through Belgium. My friend is an American. It is his first trip over here. I am from England. We are leaving tomorrow for Antwerp. Today we are going to see the sights of Brussels."

Philippe did full justice to the food spread before him. The men watched the hungry boy with great amusement.

The Englishman said, "Well, I must say you do eat well!"

Philippe stopped long enough to look up into his face and reply roguishly, "Yes, sir. I have been practicing all my life!"

The two gentlemen laughed. The Englishman had, of course, translated the words to his friend. They thought Philippe a very jolly lad. They did not know how really discontented he was. How little we can tell sometimes by looking at people what is really going on in their hearts!

"But now tell us," asked the Englishman. "Have you always lived in Brussels?"

"I have lived here all my life," Philippe answered. He then added timidly, "If you would like me to take you around the city after lunch I could show you many interesting sights. There are few places I do not know in Brussels."

"An excellent plan," cried the Englishman.

PLACE DE BRUGÈRE, BRUSSELS

Then he told his friend, the American, what the Belgian boy had offered to do.

"Good!" said the American in English. "And I hope he knows as much about cities as he does about food. For then we shall find our minds stuffed as full as our stomachs!"

Chapter VI

PHILIPPE ACTS AS GUIDE

Philippe was a very good guide. He had learned much through his reading. Now he was able to show his new friends many interesting sights in Brussels. Also, he knew stories about all of them.

Brussels has been called "Paris in Little." This is because it is beautiful like Paris, with boulevards, similar buildings, and lovely parks. They passed avenues shaded by fine old lime trees. They admired statues and fountains all over the city.

Philippe led the two gentlemen to the palace of the King. The little Brussels boy pointed out a long stately building which stands just opposite a fine park.

"So this is the palace of good King Albert!" remarked the English gentleman. "He is considered a great ruler."

"He is," smiled Philippe, "and we love him."

Then the boy continued seriously, "But we Belgians and even King Albert do not like the idea of a kingdom."

"No?" inquired the Englishman, in a surprised tone.

"You know Englishmen are very true to their King."

"Yes, I have read in my books that they are," replied Philippe. "But we have good reasons for continuing with a monarchy. First, because of our love for King Albert, and then because we are afraid that without our kingdom we should split up. And you know that our motto is 'In union there is strength.'"

"But why do you fear being split up, as you say?" inquired the Englishman.

"Because," answered Philippe, "on one side of us is France, a republic; on the other side is Germany, also a republic. We Belgians are very close to both these countries because of many things. We are like them in many ways and we trade with them. We fear that without our King to hold us together we might become part of these countries. And we are very patriotic. We never want to be anything but Belgian!"

The little fellow stood and saluted the flag, which was flying from the palace.

"See! The flag!" said Philippe, pointing to the red, yellow, and black colors fluttering in the breeze. "I can tell you about that, also, if you would like me to do so."

"Certainly," replied the Englishman. Then he turned to his friend, the American, and said, "The little chap is just full of stories."

"That may be," replied the friend, "but I do not understand a word. It all sounds like Chinese to me!"

"Wait," laughed the Englishman. "I shall translate them to you later."

So Philippe told about his flag.

"The black in the flag is the King's color," said he. "It stands for constancy, wisdom, and prudence. The yellow stands for law and order. And red is for Belgium's liberty, fought for and obtained by the blood of her soldiers."

As they walked along the shady streets the English gentleman explained to his friend all that Philippe had said. The American nodded his head understandingly.

"That is very interesting," he said. "I do not blame the Belgians for being loyal to their King. They have good reasons."

PALACE OF THE KING, BRUSSELS

"I am sure you would like to visit Waterloo," suggested Philippe. "I need not tell you the story of Waterloo," he smiled, "for everybody who has ever studied history knows about that."

But those who have not yet studied history may want to know that it is a famous battlefield where many wars were fought. The most famous of the battles was the struggle between the Duke of Wellington, who commanded the English army, and Napoleon Bonaparte who led the French.

When Philippe and his new friends had looked about for a while, the American gentleman remarked, "So this is where Napoleon met his Waterloo!"

It was here that Napoleon was conquered! That is why we still use the expression "met his Waterloo" when we mean to say "was defeated."

BRUSSELS HAS MANY FINE BOULEVARDS

Philippe showed them the "Mound of the Lion," that great pyramid-shaped monument on the battlefield.

"It was built after the Battle of Waterloo, in memory of the Prince of Orange," he explained. "It is as large as a city block. The huge lion on the top is made of metal from captured French cannons. You know that the lion is the emblem of Belgium. The mound was built almost entirely by women who carried the dirt in pails."

Driving back to the city, the Englishman remarked, "It seems to me that tea time is approaching."

The little boy knew how important tea time is to Englishmen. So he suggested an excellent café where they might sit outside and watch the people.

While they were eating, Philippe explained to the Englishman how he loved to read. He told of his interest in the stories of his land.

"Then you do not want to be a chef some day like your father?" asked the gentleman.

Philippe shook his head.

"I want to do great things," he answered. "To travel, to have adventures."

The Englishman smiled.

"That is very natural," he remarked. He told his friend, the American, what the boy had said. His friend laughed.

"That sounds like an American boy," he said. "Ask him what he wants to do."

The Englishman asked Philippe this question.

The boy answered, "Oh, I should like to go to Antwerp (ănt´-w[~e]rp) and Ghent (gĕnt) and see the sights of Belgium, because I know so many stories about everything."

He then told them about his wandering friends, Tom and Zelie.

MODERN BRUSSELS IS WELL LAID OUT WITH MANY WIDE AVENUES

The Englishman remarked, "That is a hard life. It is much better to travel in a motor car." Then he smiled pleasantly and continued, "That is the way we travel. We are leaving for Antwerp tomorrow in our car."

Philippe's eyes shone. Here were more traveling folks. It seemed to the boy that everyone in the world was traveling except himself.

And while Philippe was thus thinking, the gentlemen were talking together in English.

Suddenly the Englishman turned to Philippe and asked, "How would you like to come along with us to Antwerp? You would make an excellent guide, since you know so much about the country."

Philippe's heart almost stopped beating.

"Oh, sir," he breathed, "that is very good of you." Then he hesitated. "But my father would not let me go."

"Where is your father?" asked the gentleman.

"At the restaurant where we lunched, sir. He is in the kitchen," replied Philippe.

"Very well; let us go and see him," suggested the Englishman.

Philippe led the gentlemen back to the restaurant. They followed him into the big kitchen.

There Philippe began to introduce them to Papa Pomme.