Ever since the World's War began, we have heard a great deal about Belgium, the gallant little country which saved the world, and Holland, her sturdy neighbor which stayed neutral. Both these small countries were once called the Netherlands. "Nether" means "lower"; you can see how suitable a name "lower lands" is for a country that is much of it below sea level. Until the fifteenth century this country had no one ruler, but was cut up into many little parts, each governed by a duke or count. Here is the story of a kind count, who ruled in one part of the land in the twelfth century.

In the twelfth century there ruled in Bruges a certain Count Bordewyn, whose fathers had reigned for many years before him. Bruges, in those days, was one of the most important centres of the Netherlands, and the count was a kind and good man whose only thought was to make his people happy. In order that they might not be afraid to tell him their needs, he went about among them dressed as a farmer and a peasant; and they, thinking he was one of themselves, spoke out freely in his presence. One night he left his castle, and, poorly dressed, went out into the country to see if there was any good he could do. It was a dark, cold night, and after walking for some time he was glad to see the lights of a house in the distance. When he reached the building, he knocked at the door and went in. He found himself at a wedding-party given by a farmer whose daughter had been married that day. The good count was very happy to be of the party, and without letting the people know who he was, he sat down with them and sang and feasted. It was very late when they, much against their will, let him leave them, and he walked back through the lonely country, making plans for his people's happiness.

Suddenly he heard a whistle, and five men rushed out from a clump of trees and threw themselves upon him. The Count struggled to the trees, set his back against one and prepared to fight. The robbers were armed with knives, but the Count had only a big stick. On they rushed at him. He struck at the first one with all his strength, and hit him so hard that he fell to the ground. Another one crept up to his side, and would have cut his head open; but the Count turned quickly, and, catching the stroke on his stick, snatched the knife from the robber's hand, and with a blow sent him to join his comrade senseless on the ground. This left three against one, and the Count felt his strength giving way under their blows. Still full of courage, he swung the stick round his head to keep the wretches at a distance, and, as loudly as he could, he prayed to God to send him help. At this moment he saw dimly outlined against the darkness a human figure. In its hands it wielded a strange weapon, which soon was falling again and again on the heads and shoulders of the three bandits until they took to their heels and ran. At first the Count thought it was some angel from heaven come to his help, but as the figure drew nearer he saw that it was a farmer, and that the mysterious weapon was a flail.

The Count and the farmer embraced each other, and for a moment did not speak. Then said the Count, "My brave fellow! How can I thank you? You have saved my life!"

But the farmer would not listen to his thanks; "No, no," said he; "I have done only what you would have done for me in the same circumstances, and nothing more need be said. I take it that you are a merchant earning a living for your wife and family, as I try to do for mine."

But the Count insisted that the farmer should ask some favor. "Listen!" said he; "I am in the service of the Count, and perhaps can do you some great good."

The Robbers Were Armed With Knives

For a time the farmer was silent, and then, hesitating very much, he told the Count his dearest wish. "For thirty years I have worked on a piece of land; with this flail I have beaten the corn, and I have loved the farm as my child. Yesterday my master died, and the land will pass into strange hands and out of my care."

The Count had listened quietly to his story, and at last spoke: "But, my friend, this is not such a difficult matter. How would you like the land for your own?"

The poor farmer wept with emotion. "Really, is it possible that you have such influence?" said he.

"Come to the castle to-morrow," said the Count, "and ask for the Captain of the Guard."

And the farmer, mystified and wondering, went slowly home. When his wife opened the door, she was very angry with him for being so late; but Cornelius—that was the farmer's name—explained what had happened, and although the wife could scarcely believe that such good fortune could be theirs, yet they went to bed full of hope.

At daybreak Cornelius dressed in his best and set off for the castle, followed by the prayers and blessings of his wife. When he arrived he was so frightened that he could hardly speak to the big soldiers who guarded the door, but at last he gave his message and asked to see the Captain. He followed the soldier into a splendid hall richly hung with tapestries, and soon the man whose life he had saved came into the room. He was dressed so beautifully in silk and cloth of gold that Cornelius hardly recognized him, and when he did he was afraid to ask his question. But his friend told him not to fear, that the Count was favorable to him.

He led the trembling Cornelius through many rooms and at last stopped outside a big door. "In this hall you will see the Count. Ask for what you wish," he said.

But Cornelius said he was so much afraid that he dared not ask. "Besides, how shall I know the Count from all his followers?" he inquired.

And the answer was that all the people in the room would kneel, bare-headed, except Count Bordewyn himself. So Cornelius followed his guide into the great hall where all the Court was assembled in grandeur, and, looking round him, he perceived that the only persons standing were himself and the man whose life he had saved. Seeing this, he at once knew that this man was the Count, and he flung himself on his knees and begged forgiveness for his presumption in speaking to him as he had done. But the Count, taking his hands, raised him to his feet and embraced him, and telling his Court the history of the previous night, he commanded them to treat Cornelius with every respect. He gave him the farm and land for his own, and stocked it with grain and cattle.

1. What was the Count's object in going about in disguise?

2. What do you think he gained by it?

3. What risks did he run?

4. Do you think the farmer deserved so great a reward?

5. What is a flail? You can find out from the story, without using a dictionary.

6. Do you suppose the Count's people loved him? Why?

7. What difference do you see between the way the subjects of the Count treated him in his castle and the way Americans would treat their mayor, governor, or president?

8. Name the three scenes in this story.