A NEIGHBOR
Five years passed. Philippe was now a tall boy of eleven. He was still
called Sprout, and he was still full of wishing dreams and dreaming
wishes.
But those dreams and wishes had changed since the time when he had
longed for a baby sister. Of course, he never stopped being glad about
Rose. She was the dearest little sister that a boy could have.
[Illustration: LITTLE ROSE]
Philippe's desire to be a cook had disappeared. He had changed since
that day when Papa Pomme had taken him to the cinema. For Philippe never
forgot the film he had seen.
Philippe never forgot those terrible battle scenes. Often his eyes
would fill with tears at the thought of the sad struggle and the bravery
of his little country.
The boy who had once dreamed of vegetables now had other dreams. The
little boy, who had wanted some day to be a chef, now longed to become a
great hero like his own country's king. He longed to do a great deed
himself and to have adventures. But all he could do was to sell
vegetables.
No, that was not all. Now he could read about his country. And he did.
Philippe read and read. Every book he could find he devoured. Stories of
Belgium's cities and people Philippe learned and loved. Tales of wonder
kept him interested for hours.
[Illustration: PHILIPPE READ AND READ]
"If only I might travel and have adventures!" sighed the little
vegetable boy.
He was now old enough to drive the dog-cart to market alone. He went
each day, with Baby Rose perched on top of the vegetables, laughing and
gurgling with joy.
All the way to town Philippe sang with his little sister. When they
reached the Grande Place, he set the baby upon the counter. Then the
little girl, with her golden curls and her sunny smile, and the tall,
handsome boy, with his wavy hair and his dreamy eyes, sang and attracted
many people to the booth. It did not take them long to sell their
vegetables.
Now as Philippe unloaded his produce, he did not know that today
something unusual was going to happen. Rose fluttered about and filled
the dogs' drinking bowl. All dog-carts in Belgium carry drinking bowls,
and a bit of carpet for the animals to lie down upon. Rose filled the
bowl, and the huge beasts licked her hands with gratitude.
There was a new member of the dog family who had come to town with them
today. It was Trompke (=trŏmp'-ky=). Trompke was a puppy. He did not
work. He was Philippe's own puppy.
"Trompke" means "tambourine" in Brussels French. The puppy was thus
named because he had such a fat little round tummy.
[Illustration: TROMPKE]
Trompke loved Philippe. Today was the first time he had been allowed to
follow the cart to town. He was wild with excitement.
"Stop barking, Trompke!" commanded Philippe, as he arranged the
vegetables on the stand.
"Lie down, Tum-Tum," cried Baby Rose.
And Trompke lay at the baby's feet.
Just then Philippe noticed some one in the booth next to their own. A
tall man was moving about arranging vegetables. This booth had not been
used for a very long time.
"Now," thought Philippe, "we shall have a neighbor."
Philippe smiled at the man, who was staring at the two children. Then
the man looked down at the puppy, which was whining unhappily at
Philippe's feet.
"Keep him quiet," said the man angrily.
Philippe answered, "He means no harm. He is only excited. It's his first
trip to town."
The man did not answer but turned toward his vegetables. Philippe was
puzzled. He had never before met anyone like his neighbor.
The man wore ragged clothes, and his face was sunburned. His eyes were
coal black and seemed to flash fire. He had a wild look about him. He
was tall and moved like a cat.
Suddenly he leaned over toward Philippe.
"Keep that dog quiet, will you?" he snarled.
Trompke was still whining softly, though he could hardly be heard.
"He does no harm," answered Philippe.
The man's flashing eyes gleamed as he replied, "He keeps the people
away. Nobody has come to buy at the booths yet. It is the fault of that
dog."
[Illustration: "LIE DOWN, TUM-TUM!"]
Philippe could only smile at such stupidity. To think that a little
whining dog could keep people away! But the man seemed nervous.
So Philippe said, "Just wait, sir. I will have the crowds here in a
short time. Come, Rose; let us sing!"
Little Rose stood upon the counter. She looked like a big doll. Her
golden curls shone in the sunlight. Philippe stood by her side, and
together they sang in voices clear and sweet. They sang the little
nonsense song that Philippe had made up for his sister. It ran:
"I wouldn't be an artichoke,
And have my heart torn out,
I wouldn't be a lettuce,
With my head thrown all about,
I'd hate to be a cornstalk,
For folk my ears would pull;
Potatoes must feel dreadful
'Cause with dirt their eyes are full."
A few people began to wander over to the vegetable booth. They stood
and watched the two children. They smiled at the quaint little vegetable
boy, and looked admiringly at the pretty baby. Then the children began
their second stanza, as more and more people gathered around the booth.
"It must be hard for spinach, too;
His leaves are never read;
Poor mushroom, with the fairy folk
All sitting on his head!
Old Mr. Onion grieves so much.
He makes us all boohoo!
I'm glad I'm not a vegetable,
But just a child. Aren't you?"
Many people had now crowded round and some began to buy vegetables.
Philippe was kept busy serving them. Baby Rose smiled and dimpled at
everyone. She sang other songs that Philippe had made up. Then she sang
"The Brabançonne" (=brȧ-bän-sōn'=), Belgium's national anthem.
The vegetables were slowly disappearing. But from the booth next door,
not a vegetable was bought. Philippe cast a look in the direction of the
tall dark man, who was standing with his arms folded.
Philippe looked down at the man's vegetables. For the first time he
noticed that they were not fresh. They were wilted and stale.
"It is no wonder the people do not buy," thought Philippe.
But he felt sorry, nevertheless. When the crowd had left, and the
selling was over, he turned to the man.
"I am sorry," he said. "But----"
Philippe was going to tell him that people will not buy stale
vegetables. But the man interrupted him.
"Thank you, but I do not need your advice," he said.
[Illustration: "THANK YOU, BUT I DO NOT NEED YOUR ADVICE," HE SAID]
Philippe watched him as he began to throw his vegetables into a barrel
and prepare to leave. He whistled as he did so.
Philippe lifted Rose from the counter and they, too, made preparations
for departure.
All the way home, the boy seemed to see before him that stranger's face.
When the children reached home, a surprise awaited them.
"Papa Pomme is home! Hurrah!" cried Philippe.
Sometimes Papa Pomme came home to dinner, and that was a great treat.
But this evening Papa Pomme looked grave. He began to talk with Mother
Yvelle. Philippe listened.
"They say that this thief has stolen from several farms about here,"
said Papa Pomme. "You had better warn Emile to watch."
"A thief, Papa?" asked Philippe, whose eyes were very big.
"Yes, my boy," Papa Pomme replied. "A man who goes about at night
stealing vegetables from people's farms--a vegetable thief. I wish they
could catch him. It is very hard for the poor farmers to have their
produce stolen. This thief is a wicked man."
Philippe suddenly thought of his dark neighbor in the market place.
Could it be----? Oh, no.
Still there were those stale vegetables. But Philippe refused to think
of such a thing.
"Papa," he asked, "if this thief is caught, what will they do with him?"
"They will put him in prison, my son," answered Papa Pomme.