Nobody's Girl Part 14

CHAPTER VII

MARAUCOURT AT LAST

Things came to pa.s.s as La Rouquerie had arranged. For eight days Perrine ran through the streets of the villages and towns crying out: "Rabbit skins! Rags! Bones!"

"You've got a voice that would make yer famous for this here business,"

said La Rouquerie admiringly, as Perrine's clear treble was heard in the streets. "If yer'd stay with me you'd be doin' me a service and yer wouldn't be unhappy. You'd make a livin'. Is it a go?"

"Oh, thank you, but it's not possible," replied Perrine.

Finding that the reasons she advanced were not sufficient to induce Perrine to stay with her, La Rouquerie put forth another:

"And yer wouldn't have to leave Palikare."

This was a great grief, but Perrine had made up her mind.

"I must go to my relations; I really must," she said.

"Did your relatives save yer life, like that there donkey?" insisted La Rouquerie.

"But I promised my mother."

"Go, then, but you see one fine day you'll be sorry yer didn't take what I offered yer p'raps."

"You are very kind and I shall always remember you."

When they reached Creil, La Rouquerie hunted up her friend, the farmer, and asked him to give Perrine a lift in his cart as far as Amiens. He was quite willing, and for one whole day Perrine enjoyed the comfort of lying stretched out on the straw, behind two good trotting horses. At Essentaux she slept in a barn.

The next day was Sunday, and she was up bright and early and quickly made her way to the railway station. Handing her five francs to the ticket seller she asked for a ticket to Picquigny. This time she had the satisfaction of seeing that her five francs was accepted. She received her ticket and seventy-five cents in change.

It was 12 o'clock when the train pulled in at the station at Picquigny.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, the air was soft and warm, far different from the scorching heat which had prostrated her in the woods, and she ... how unlike she was from that miserable little girl who had fallen by the wayside. And she was clean, too. During the days she had spent with La Rouquerie she had been able to mend her waist and her skirt, and had washed her linen and s.h.i.+ned her shoes. Her past experience was a lesson: she must never give up hope at the darkest moment; she must always remember that there was a silver cloud, if she would only persevere.

She had a long walk after she got out of the train at Picquigny. But she walked along lightly past the meadows bordered with poplars and limes, past the river where the villagers in their Sunday clothes were fis.h.i.+ng, past the windmills which, despite the fact that the day was calm, were slowly moving round, blown by the breeze from the sea which could be felt even there.

She walked through the pretty village of St. Pipoy, with its red roofs and quaint church, and over the railway tracks which unites the towns wherein Vulfran Paindavoine has his factories, and which joins the main line to Boulogne.

As Perrine pa.s.sed the pretty church the people were coming out from ma.s.s. Listening to them as they talked in groups she heard again the sing-song manner of talking that her father had often imitated so as to amuse her.

On the country road she saw a young girl walking slowly ahead of her carrying a very heavy basket on her arm.

"Is this the way to Maraucourt?" Perrine asked.

"Yes, this road ... quite straight."

"Quite straight," said Perrine laughing, "it isn't so very straight after all."

"If you are going to Maraucourt, I'm going there too, and we could go together," suggested the girl.

"I will if you'll let me help you carry your basket," said Perrine with a smile.

"I won't say no to that, for it's sure heavy!"

The girl put her basket on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You don't belong to Maraucourt, do you?" asked the girl.

"No, do you?"

"Sure I do."

"Do you work in the factories?"

"Should say so, everybody does here."

"How much do they pay?"

"Ten sous."

"And is it hard work?"

"Not very; but you have to have a sharp eye and not waste time. Do you want to get in there?"

"Yes, if they'd have me."

"Should say they would have you; they take anybody. If they didn't how do you think they'd get the seven thousand hands they've got. Just be there tomorrow morning at 6 o'clock at the gate. We must hurry now or I'll be late. Come on."

She took the handle of the basket on one side and Perrine took it on the other side and they set out on the road, keeping in step down the middle.

Here was an opportunity for Perrine to learn what held interest for her. It was too good for her not to seize it. But she was afraid to question this girl openly. She must put the questions she wanted answered in a way that would not arouse her suspicions.

"Were you born at Maraucourt?" she began.

"Sure, I'm a native and my mother was too, my father came from Picquigny."

"Have you lost them?"

"Yes, I live with my grandmother who keeps a grocer store and restaurant.

She's Madame Francoise."

"Ah! Madame Francoise."

"What! do you know her?"

"No, I just said, 'Ah, Madame Francoise.'"