Over there, there are too many; they live in heaps getting in each other's way, and easily run amuck.

Hurrah for Peace, Frenchy, and the simple life! Where a man can live comfortably and runs no danger of being killed for things he doesn't understand--there is his real homeland!" And as though an echo of the rustic's reflections, Karl seated at the piano, began chanting in a low voice one of Beethoven's hymns-- "We sing the joy of life, We sing of liberty, We'll ne'er betray our fellow-man, Though great the guerdon be." Peace!.

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A few days afterward Desnoyers recalled bitterly the old man's illusion, for war--domestic war--broke loose in this idyllic stage-setting of ranch life.
"Run, Senor Manager, the old Patron has unsheathed his knife and is going to kill the German!" And Desnoyers had hurried from his office, warned by the peon's summons.