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Nor do I
know how a child's doll came to be in that harried, uptorn place. I
only know it was there, and being there it seemed to me to sum up the
fate of little Belgium in this great war. If I had been seeking a
visible symbol of Belgium's case I do not believe I could have found a
more fitting one anywhere.
Going down the hill to the town we met, skirting across our path, a
party of natives wearing Red Cross distinguishments. The lieutenant
said these men had undoubtedly been beating the woods and grain fields
for the scattered wounded or dead. He added, without emotion, that from
time to time they found one such; in fact, the volunteer searchers had
brought in two Frenchmen just before we arrived--one to be cared for at
the hospital, the other to be buried.
We had thanked the young lieutenant and had bade him good-by, and were
starting off again, hoping to make Maubeuge before night, when suddenly
it struck me that the one thing about La Buissiere I should recall most
vividly was not the sight of it, all stricken and stunned and forlorn as
it was, but the stench of it.


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