Belgium has more miles of railway than any other country of its size in the world.

Philippe was having a noisy ride, huddled up in the corner of a freight car. He was tired out from all the excitement of travel during the day. Even the sounds of passing trains, the swaying motion, the puff-puffing and shrill whistling all around him could not keep him awake. Philippe and Trompke slept.

Philippe did not know how long he had been sleeping when he suddenly sat up straight. The train had stopped. The boy rubbed his eyes. All was black around him. He could feel the soft coat of Trompke beside him.

He felt for the door of the car and opened it. Then he jumped out, followed by Trompke. He found himself standing beside the freight car. It was night. They were in the middle of a field, far out in the country. The rest of the train had, no doubt, gone off and left them behind.

He was alone. Probably the rest of the freight train was now in Ghent. But his car had been left in this deserted place for some reason which Philippe did not know.

He started across the field toward a farmhouse. He was very hungry! If only he might go in and ask for something to eat. But it was very late at night. The people were surely asleep, and he must not awaken them.

There was a barn near the house. Philippe decided to sleep there. He could go to the house in the morning and ask for food. So he climbed up into a hay loft. The hay was soft and sweet; snuggling down, the boy and the dog were soon asleep. It must have been nearly dawn, when Philippe was awakened by voices below him. Not stirring, he listened. He heard two men, who had entered and were unharnessing a horse.

"It was the best fair of the year," said one.

In Belgium there are many fairs all the year round.

"Ah, ho, hum!" yawned the other man. "But we stayed in Ghent so long! Now we shall have only a short time to sleep before starting the day's work."

"Never mind," the other man declared, "it was worth the drive. And besides, the fair is leaving Ghent tomorrow."

Philippe put his chin on his elbow and listened. Then the man began to sing:

"That was the song that the gypsy girl sang; wasn't it?" asked the other.

"Yes," replied the first.

Philippe could hardly believe what he heard. That was his song! He had taught that song to Rose! Zelie must be singing his songs at the fair in Ghent.

Philippe was about to call down to the men. Then he stopped. They might mistake him for a tramp. They might do him some harm. No; he must be careful.

Then, yawning sleepily, the two men stamped out of the barn. Philippe heard the door closing behind them.

The only sound now was the crunch-crunching of the horse. But even that did not remind Philippe of his hunger. He could think of only one thing. He must reach Ghent as quickly as possible! He must find his friends before they left. He must join them at the fair in Ghent.

Philippe rose and went down into the barn. The men had locked the door; but there was a tiny window above the horse's stall. Through this, the boy first pushed Trompke. Then he started to climb through it himself.

"Come, Trompke," he called. "We must walk to Ghent. There is no time to lose. We must get there before the fair moves on."

Dawn was in the sky as the boy and his dog trudged wearily along the road. They were in the famous flax-growing district of Belgium. There were many glistening canals and rows of tall trees. They crossed bridges and passed low farmhouses with red roofs. But not once did Philippe stop.

Though his legs ached, never once did the boy give in. Trompke's tongue swept the ground. He was too tired to bark even at birds and chickens.

They passed fields of flax. This flax is sent to the factories of Ghent where it is made into fine linen.

The word "Ghent" is taken from the French word "gant," meaning "glove." Ghent was once famous for glove making. But today the lace and linen trades are more popular.

At last Philippe could see the outline of houses in the distance. It was bright sunlight now. There was smoke curling up from chimneys. People were cooking breakfast in Ghent.

Philippe could not let himself think of that. To the market place he went.

"Where is the fair?" he asked a passerby.

"It left Ghent last night," was the answer. "It will be in Bruges (broo'jez) for three days, and I only wish I could go there and see it again."

Philippe did not hear the last remark. He had already turned. Everything had begun to whirl about him. But he stumbled on, on.

"We must follow them to Bruges, Trompke," he said, bravely.

But Trompke lay down on the sidewalk with his head between his paws. His tongue was lolling. His eyes said, "Not I! I stay!"

But Philippe was already walking away. Trompke arose wearily and followed. What dog has the right to refuse the commands of a boy? It is true that in this case the dog was more sensible than the boy.

For Philippe was completely worn out. He was so tired and hungry, he could scarcely think. It would have been better had he rested awhile.

But all he could think of was finding Tom and Zelie and joining them.