CHAPTER XLVI

The life of the Parcots had a new excitement now. Before them stood the prospect of a return home. They had grown so used to the Belgian misery that the refurbished memories of America were like fantastic imaginings of some utopian dream-world. Was it possible that there was a country where there was no war? where an enemy was not in possession, making and enforcing the laws? where slaughter and the news or fear of slaughter were not the daily bread? where there was not a bayonet at every corner? where the populace…