The Children's Pilgrimage Part 29

Pericard stuck out for three. He would give the greasy and ragged old coat for three francs. The Jew felt the pocket again. It was a large sum to risk for what in itself was not worth many sous; but, then, he might not have such a chance again. Finally, he made up his mind, and put three francs into Pericard's eager hand.

Instantly the old fellow pounced upon his hidden treasure. Behold! a solitary--a miserable centime. His rage knew no bounds! He called it an infamous robbery! He shouted to Pericard to take back his rags!

Whistling and laughing, the French boy exclaimed: "Pas si bete!" and then returned to the children.

Now, indeed, was Pericard happy. He nodded most vigorously to Cecile. He showed her his three francs. He tossed them in the air. He spun them before him on the dirty road. It seemed wonderful that he did not lose his treasures. Finally, after indulging in about six somersaults in succession, he deposited the coins in his mouth, and became grave after his own fas.h.i.+on again.

Now must he and the English children, for such he believed them, have the exquisite delight of spending this precious money. They turned into a street which resembled more an ordinary market than a street. Here were provisions in abundance; here were buyers and sellers; here was food of all descriptions. Each vender of food had his own particular stall, set up under his own particular awning.

Pericard seemed to know the place well. Maurice screamed with delight at the sight of so much delicious food, and even patient Toby licked his chops, and owned to himself that their morning's breakfast had been very scanty.

Cecile alone--too intent on her mission to be hungry--felt little interest in the tempting stalls.

Pericard, however, began to lay in provisions judiciously. Here in this Rue de Sevres, were to be bought fruit, flowers, vegetables of all kinds, b.u.t.ter, cheese, cream, and even fish.

"Bonjour, Pere Bison," said Pericard, who, feeling himself rich, made his choice with care and deliberation.

This old man sold turkey eggs, cream-cheese, and b.u.t.ter. Pericard purchased a tiny piece of deliciously fresh-looking b.u.t.ter, a small morsel of cream-cheese, and three turkey eggs; at another stall he bought some rolls; at a third a supply of fresh and rosy apples. Thus provided, he became an object of immense attraction to Toby, and, it must be owned, also to Maurice.

As they walked along, in enforced silence, Pericard indulged in delicious meditations. What a moment that would be when they sucked those turkeys eggs! how truly delightful to see his dainty little princess enjoying her morsel of cream-cheese!

At last, after what seemed an interminable time, they reached the faubourg dreamed of so vividly the night before by Cecile. It was a large place, and also a very poor neighborhood.

Having arrived at their destination. Pericard pointed to the name on a lamp-post, spreading out his arms with a significant gesture; then, letting them drop to his sides, stood still. His object was accomplished. He now waited impatiently for the moment when they might begin their feast.

Cecile felt a strange fluttering at her heart; the place was so large, the streets so interminable. Where, how, should she find the lady with the English name?

Pericard was now of no further use. He must follow where she led.

She walked on, her steps flagging--despondency growing at her heart.

Was her dream then not real after all? Ah, yes! it must, it must be a Heaven-sent warning. Was not Joseph warned of G.o.d in a dream? Was he not told where to go and what to do?--just as Cecile herself had been told by the blessed Lord Himself. Only an angel had come to Joseph, but Jesus Himself had counseled Cecile. Yes, she was now in the faubourg--she must presently find the lady bearing the English name.

The Faubourg St. G---- was undoubtedly a poor suburb, but just even when Pericard's patience began to give way, the children saw a row of houses taller and better than any they had hitherto come across. The English lady must live there. Cecile again, with renewed hope and confidence, walked down the street. At the sixth house she stopped, and a cry of joy, of almost rapture, escaped her lips. Amid all the countless foreign words and names stood a modest English one on a neat door painted green. In the middle of a s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s plate appeared two very simple, very common words--_"Miss Smith."_

CHAPTER XII.

THE WINSEY FROCK.

Her voice almost trembling with suppressed excitement, Cecile turned to her little brother.

"Maurice, Miss Smith lives here. She is an English lady. I must see her. You will stay outside with Pericard, Maurice; and Toby will take care of you. Don't go away. Just walk up and down. I shan't be long; and, Maurice, you won't go away?"

"No" answered Maurice, "I won't run away. I will eat some of that nice breakfast without waiting for you, Cecile; for I am hungry, but I won't run away."

Then Maurice took Pericard's hand. Toby wagged his tail knowingly, and Cecile ran up the steps of Miss Smith's house. A young girl, with the round fresh face of old England, answered her modest summons.

"Yes," she said, "Miss Smith was at home." She would inquire if she could see the little girl from London. She invited Cecile to step into the hall; and a moment or two later showed her into a very small, neatly furnished parlor. This small room was quite in English fas.h.i.+on, and bore marks of extreme neatness, joined to extremely slender means.

Cecile stood by the round table in the center of the room. She had now taken her purse from the bosom of her dress, and when Miss Smith entered, she came up to her at once, holding it in her hand.

"If you please," said Cecile, "Jesus the Guide says you will take care of this for me. He sent me to you, and said you would take great, great care of my money. 'Tis all quite right. Will you open the purse, please? 'Tis a Russia-leather purse, and there's forty pounds in it, and about eleven or twelve more, I think. I must have some to take me and Maurice and Toby down south. But Jesus says you will take great care of the rest."

"Child," said Miss Smith. She was a very little woman, with a white, thin, and worn face. She looked nearer fifty than forty. Her hair was scanty and gray. When Cecile offered her the purse she flushed painfully, stepped back a pace or two, and pushed it from her.

"Child," she repeated, "are you mad, or is it Satan is sending you here? Pretty little girl, with the English tongue, do you know that I am starving?"

"Oh!" said Cecile. Her face showed compa.s.sion, but she did not attempt to take up her purse. On the contrary, she left it on the table close to Miss Smith, and retreated to the farther side herself.

"Starving means being very, very hungry," said Cecile. "I know what that means, just a little. It is a bad feeling. I am sorry. There is a turkey egg waiting for me outside. I will fetch it for you in a moment. But you are quite wrong in saying it was Satan sent me to you. I don't know anything about Satan. It was the blessed, blessed Jesus the Guide sent me. He came last night in a dream. He told me to go to the Faubourg St. G---- and I should find an English lady, and she would take great care of my Russia-leather purse. It was a true warning, just as Joseph's dream was true. He was warned of G.o.d in a dream, just as I was last night."

"And I am the only Englishwoman in the faubourg," said Miss Smith. "I have lived here for ten years now, and I never heard of any other. I teach, or, rather, I did teach English in a Pension de Demoiselles close by, and I have been dismissed. I was thought too old-fas.h.i.+oned.

I can't get any more employment, and I had just broken into my last franc piece when you came. I might have done without food, but Molly was _so_ hungry. Molly is going to-morrow, and I shall be alone.

Yes, little English girl, you do right to reprove me. I, too, have loved the Lord Jesus. Sit down! Sit down on that chair, and tell me, in my own dear tongue, the story of that purse."

"I am not an English girl," said Cecile; "I am French; I come from the south, from the Pyrenees; but my father brought me to England when I was two years old, and I don't know any French. My father died, and I had a stepmother; and my stepmother died, and when she was dying she gave me a charge. It was a great charge, and it weighs heavily on my heart, and makes me feel very old. My stepmother had a daughter who ran away from her when she married my father. My stepmother thinks she went to France, and got lost in France, and she gave me a purse of money--some to give to Lovedy, and some to spend in looking for her. I feel that Lovedy has gone south, and I am going down south, too, to find her. I, and my little brother, and our dog, and a big, kind boy--we are all going south to find Lovedy. And last night Jesus the Guide came to me in a dream, and told me that my purse was in danger, and He told me to come to you. Satan had nothing at all to say to it. It was Jesus sent me to you."

"I believe you, child," said Miss Smith. "You bring the strangest tale, but I believe you. You bring a purse containing a lot of money to a starving woman. Well, I never was brought so low as not to be honest yet. How much money is in the purse, little girl?"

"There are four ten-pound notes--that makes forty pounds," said Cecile--"that is Lovedy's money; there are about eleven pounds of the money I must spend. You must give me that eleven pounds, please, Miss Smith, and you must keep the forty pounds very, _very_ safely until I come for it, or send for it."

"What is your name, little girl?"

"Cecile D'Albert."

"Well, Cecile, don't you think that if you had a dream about the forty pounds being in danger, that the eleven pounds will be in danger too? Someone must have guessed you had that money, little one, and and if they can't get hold of the forty pounds, they will take the eleven."

Cecile felt herself growing a trifle pale.

"I never thought of that," she said. "I cannot look for Lovedy without a little money. What shall I do, Miss Smith?"

"Let me think," said Miss Smith.

She rested her chin on her hand and one or two puckers came into her brow, and she screwed up her shrewd little mouth. After a moment or two her face brightened.

"Is the money English money, little girl?" she said.

"Yes," answered Cecile; "the captain on board the boat from England did change some, but all the French money is gone now."

"That won't do at all, Cecile; you must have French money. Now, my dear, will you kindly take that eleven pounds out of your purse and reckon it before me?"

Cecile did so--eleven sovereigns lay glittering and tempting on Miss Smith's table.

"There, child, I am going to put on my bonnet and shawl, and I shall take that money out with me, and be back again in a few moments. You wait here, Cecile, I will bring back French money; you watch your purse until I return."

While Miss Smith was out, there came a ring to the door bell, and the little fresh-colored English servant brought in a letter, and laid it beside the purse which Cecile stood near, but did not offer to touch.