Clarette turned to drive the children away and in the act allowed Patsy and Ajo to glance past her into the hut.
There stood little Maurie, sleeves rolled above his elbows, bending over a battered dishpan where he was washing a mess of cracked and broken pottery.

He met their gaze with a despairing countenance and a gesture of appeal that scattered a spray of suds from big wet fingers.

Next moment Clarette had filled the doorway again.
"You may as well go away," said the woman harshly.
Patsy stood irresolute.
"Have you money to pay the rent and to provide food and clothing ?" she presently asked.
"I have found a few francs in Henri's pockets," was the surly reply.
"And when they are gone ?" Clarette gave a shrug.
"When they are gone we shall not starve," she said.

"There is plenty of charity for the Belgians these days.

One has but to ask, and someone gives." "Then you will not let us have Maurie ?" "No, mademoiselle." Then she unbent a little and added: "If my husband goes to you, they will be sure to catch him some day, and when they catch him they will shoot him." "Why ?" "Don't you know ?" "No." Clarette smiled grimly.
"When Henri escapes me, he always gets himself into trouble.