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.
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