A Little Maid of Picardy by Amy Ella Blanchard

The towers of the little church were gone, the bells, carried off by the Germans, could give forth no joyous peal, but there came a day when the small town joined the rest of the world in celebrating the news of the armistice. "Make a joyful noise, all ye lands," quoted the old _curé_ as he stood on the steps of the church and smiled indulgently upon the boys who were raising a tremendous din with any kind of thing that would furnish a noise. An old bugle, a sheet of tin and a hammer, cow bells and sheep bells, were in great requisition. There was a descent upon the kitchens, every boy carrying off whatsoever he could lay his hands upon, from a tin plate to a copper cauldron, and he did it unreproved. People stood in little knots talking excitedly, weeping, shouting, singing. Anything resembling a tricolor was waved, was hung from windows, was carried in parade upon the end of a stick. The last gun was fired at eleven A. M. At that hour from the church steps the old _curé_ raised his hands in benediction before he began mass.

Lucie and Odette joined the marching throng to swell the volume of song when the strains of the Marseillaise arose above the din. An old man with an ancient cornet played the air, the boys beat wildly upon their improvised drums. Men, women and children joined in.