Little Philippe of Belgium Part 2

Carrying his precious pot, he started toward the cottage. On the way he once more examined the cabbages.

But there was still no sign of a baby in any of them.

As he neared the house, he noticed a beautiful rose growing near the wall.

It had been in full bloom the day before. Now it was beginning to droop.

Philippe looked at it pityingly.

"Poor rose!" he said. "Tomorrow you will be dead."

Then he went into the house.

The next morning Philippe arose early. He ran to the cabbage patch. But the cabbages all looked neat and whole. None had been disturbed during the night.

"She has not come!" moaned poor Philippe.

Sadly he started toward the cottage, when again he noticed the rose. But this time it was only the stem he saw. The petals all had fallen to the ground.

"Poor rose!" he sighed. "She is dead!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "POOR ROSE," HE SAID]

There was a step behind him. A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

His father's deep, fine voice boomed, "What are you saying, my little cabbage?"

"Poor rose is dead!" answered Philippe sadly.

"What!" exclaimed Papa Pomme. "Why, Baby Rose is born!"

"Baby Rose?" questioned Philippe.

"Yes, my son," Papa Pomme said. "Your little sister came to us last night--your little sister Rose."

Philippe leaped up and threw his arms about his father's neck in a burst of joy. At last his little sister was here! Then he looked at the dead rose, and from it, to the live and healthy cabbages. He smiled knowingly.

"Papa Pomme," he said, "it was not from the cabbage that Baby came. So, you see, she shall not be our Cauliflower. It was the rose that opened to give her to us. That is why she is our Baby Rose."

Chapter II

PAPA POMME'S SURPRISE

For over a year now Philippe, the little Brussels Sprout, had been going to the market place with Emile Spinach. Mother had to stay at home with Baby Rose.

Philippe felt himself almost a man now. If only Emile would stay at home and let him drive the dogs alone! Ah, that would be heaven, indeed.

Another dream was to bring his precious Baby Rose to the market place some day. Philippe was always wishing wishes.

Rose was so tiny. At first she could only laugh at Philippe's happy face as he bent over her cradle. She pulled his hair or clutched his finger.

Now she could stand alone and say a word or two. She was beautiful. She was fair and dainty, and her eyes were as blue as a summer sky. How Philippe loved his Baby Rose!

Soon Mother had promised to bring her to the market place. What a proud boy Philippe would be when he might set her upon the low cart on top of the vegetables and drive her to town! The fine, sleek dogs would be proud, too, knowing that a rare flower rested upon their vegetable load.

Philippe had a sweet voice and sang a number of Belgian folk songs. He was beginning to teach his Rose a little vegetable song which he had made up.

He had a fine plan. He wanted to station Rose in the market place, and have her sing for the pa.s.sers-by. How proud the little fellow was of his baby sister!

Today as he walked along beside the st.u.r.dy dogs, he sang gayly. He was happier than usual. Today an exciting thing was to happen. Papa Pomme had told him that he would call at the market place and take him to lunch. Papa Pomme did not often do this. But today he was given the afternoon to himself.

Papa had put his finger to his lips and said mysteriously to Philippe, "You shall dine with me, little one; and then, in the afternoon--ah, you shall see!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AH, YOU SHALL SEE"]

So as Philippe walked along, he wondered what surprise his father had planned for the afternoon. When he reached the market place, or Grande Place (=gran plas=), as it is called in French, he helped Emile Spinach unload the vegetables. Many other farmers were arranging their wares.

Some sold beautiful flowers, and others sold fruits. There were portions of the square set aside for sellers of birds and dogs and all manner of different articles.

The Grande Place in Brussels is one of the most beautiful places of its kind in the world. There stands the city hall, built half a century before America was discovered. There are many other beautiful, gilded buildings. The Grande Place in Brussels shines in the splendor of past glory.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SOME SOLD BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS]

Here sat the little boy, Philippe, and helped sell his mother's vegetables. He often glanced at the clock and hoped his father would not be late. He wanted to know what Papa Pomme was planning for the afternoon.

Papa Pomme was on time. He took his son by the hand. They made their way to a restaurant, where little tables were placed out on the sidewalk.

Here people sat in leisurely style, eating hearty dinners. The jolly-faced chef and his little son settled themselves at a corner table. The menu before them was indeed tempting.

Although Philippe was anxious to know his father's surprise, he could not allow it to stand in the way of his appet.i.te. How could any boy do that?

Belgian food is tempting to everyone. It is as dainty as the French food. It is as wholesome as the Dutch. And it has something about it that is neither French nor Dutch, but purely Belgian.

Perhaps the reason lies in the fact that Belgium is so small. It is a matter of only a few hours for vegetables and fruits to travel from a distant farm to a Brussels table. Therefore, all food is fresh.

Papa Pomme ordered "potage," the famous thick soup, dear to all the French and Belgians. Then they had a roast, and for dessert, strawberries and a huge plate of gingerbread. Belgian strawberries and gingerbread are very famous and are said to be the best in the world.

While they ate, they did not talk. Eating was a serious matter with Papa Pomme and Philippe.

So absorbed did Philippe become that he forgot his manners. He reached across the table and pulled toward him the long loaf of French bread.

"Ho, ho!" cried Papa Pomme. "Not so fast! Come! Do you not use your tongue when you want something which is beyond your reach?"

Philippe blushed. Then he replied stoutly, "Yes, Papa Pomme; but my arm is much longer than my tongue!"

Papa Pomme laughed and gained another pound. Philippe went on eating happily.

When they left the restaurant they walked down the street together.