"Only visitors?" I queried.

"Darned good visitors," said he, "they've been here since the second week
of August, 1914."

"Refugees--" I commented.

"Yes, refugees, not one with a home. Not one who has not lost her husband,
her son or her grandson. Not one who has not lost every bit of small
property, but her clothes as well. You think that I am doing something to
help? Well, that is not much. I'm lucky with the few I have. There's my old
neighbor over yonder on the hill. He owns five acres and has a two-roomed
shack and he keeps eleven."

"And how long do you expect them to stay?"

"Why, laddie," said he. "Stay--how should I know? I was talking to an
officer the other day and he told me he believed the first ten years of
this war would be the worst. They are free and welcome to stay all that
time, and longer if need be. They are my people. They are Belgians. We have
not much. My savings are going rapidly, but we have set a few potatoes"--he
waved his hand over to where four of the old women were hoeing the ground.
"We get bread and a little soup; we have enough to wear for now. We shall
manage."

That is only one instance in my own personal experience. Every place was
the same. The people who could, sheltered those that had lost all. It was a
case of share and share alike. If one man had a crust and his neighbor
none, why then each had half a crust without questions.