concealed arms, a sergeant with a guard was sent to search the
house.

"Yes, my son has a rifle."

"Where is it?"

"In his hands on the Yser, if he is not dead, monsieur. You are
welcome to search, monsieur."

Belgium was developing a new humour, a humour at the expense of
the Germans. In their homes they mimicked their rulers as freely as
they pleased. To carry mimickry into the streets meant arrest for the
elders, but not always for the children. You have heard the story,
which is true, of how some gamins put carrots in old bowler hats to
represent the spikes of German helmets, and at their leader's
command of "On to Paris!" did a goose-step backwards. There is
another which you may not have heard of a small boy who put on
grandfather's spectacles, a pillow under his coat, and a card on his
cap, 'Officer of the Landsturm.' The conquerors had enough sense
not to interfere with the battalion which was taking Paris; but the
pseudo-Landsturm officer was chased into a doorway and got a cuff
after his placard was taken away from him.

When a united public opinion faces bayonets it is not altogether
helpless to reply. By the atmospheric force of mass it enjoys a
conquest of its own. If a German officer or soldier entered a street
car, women drew aside in a way to indicate that they did not want
their garments contaminated. People walked by the sentries in the
streets giving them room as you would give a mangy dog room, yet