Nobody's Girl Part 2

"If that is so," said the sick woman, "we must not hesitate; we must go to Charonne. But can you find the way?"

"Yes, it's easy enough. Oh, mother," she added, as she was going out, "there are such a lot of wagons outside; they have printed on them 'Maraucourt Factories,' and beneath that the name, 'Vulfran Paindavoine.' There are all kinds of barrels and things in the carts.

Such a number!"

"There is nothing remarkable in that, my child," said the woman.

"Yes, but it's strange to see so many wagons with the same name on them," replied the girl as she left the caravan.

Perrine found the donkey with his nose buried in the straw, which he was eating calmly.

"Why, you're letting him eat it!" she cried to the boy.

"Well, why not?" he retorted.

"And if the man is angry?"

"He'd better not be with me," said the small boy, putting himself in a position to fight and throwing his head back.

But his prowess was not to be brought into action, for at this moment the custom officer began to search the cart of straw, and then gave permission for it to pa.s.s on through the Gates of Paris.

"Now it's your turn," said the boy, "and I'll have to leave you.

Goodbye, Mademoiselle. If you ever want news of me ask for Double Fat.

Everybody knows me."

The employes who guard the entrances of Paris are accustomed to strange sights, yet the man who went into Perrine's caravan looked surprised when he found a young woman lying on a mattress, and even more surprised when his hasty glance revealed to him the extreme poverty of her surroundings.

"Have you anything to declare?" he asked, continuing his investigations.

"Nothing."

"No wine, no provisions?"

"Nothing."

This was only too true; apart from the mattress, the two cane chairs, a little table, a tiny stove, a camera and a few photographic supplies, there was nothing in this wagon; no trunks, no baskets, no clothes....

"All right; you can pa.s.s," said the man.

Once through the Gates, Perrine, holding Palikare by the bridle, followed the stretch of gra.s.s along the embankment. In the brown, dirty gra.s.s she saw rough looking men lying on their backs or on their stomachs. She saw now the cla.s.s of people who frequent this spot. From the very air of these men, with their b.e.s.t.i.a.l, criminal faces, she understood why it would be unsafe for them to be there at night. She could well believe that their knives would be in ready use.

Looking towards the city, she saw nothing but dirty streets and filthy houses. So this was Paris, the beautiful Paris of which her father had so often spoken. With one word she made her donkey go faster, then turning to the left she inquired for the Guillot Field.

If everyone knew where it was situated, no two were of the same opinion as to which road she should take to get there, and several times, in trying to follow the various directions which were given to her, she lost her way.

At last she found the place for which she was looking. This must be it!

Inside the field there was an old omnibus without wheels, and a railway car, also without wheels, was on the ground. In addition, she saw a dozen little round pups rolling about. Yes, this was the place!

Leaving Palikare in the street, she went into the field. The pups at once scrambled at her feet, barked, and snapped at her shoes.

"Who's there?" called a voice.

She looked around and saw a long, low building, which might have been a house, but which might serve for anything else. The walls were made of bits of stone, wood and plaster. Even tin boxes were used in its construction. The roof was made of tarred canvas and cardboard, and most of the window panes were of paper, although in one or two instances there was some gla.s.s. The man who designed it was another Robinson Crusoe, and his workman a man Friday.

A one-armed man with a s.h.a.ggy beard was sorting out rags and throwing them into the baskets around him.

"Don't step on my dogs," he cried; "come nearer."

She did as she was told.

"Are you the owner of the Guillot Field?" she asked.

"That's me!" replied the man.

In a few words she told him what she wanted. So as not to waste his time while listening, he poured some red wine out of a bottle that stood on the ground and drank it down at a gulp.

"It can be arranged if you pay in advance," he said, sizing her up.

"How much?" she asked.

"Forty sous a week for the wagon and twenty for the donkey," he replied.

"That's a lot of money," she said, hesitatingly.

"That's my price."

"Your summer price?"

"Yes, my summer price."

"Can my donkey eat the thistles?"

"Yes, and the gra.s.s also if his teeth are strong enough."

"We can't pay for the whole week because we are only going to stay one day. We are going through Paris on our way to Amiens, and we want to rest."

"Well, that's all right; six sous a day for the cart and three for the donkey."

One by one she pulled out nine sous from the pocket in her skirt.

"That's for the first day," she said, handing them to the man.

"You can tell your people they can all come in," he said, "How many are there? If it's a whole company it's two sous extra for each person."

"I have only my mother."

"All right; but why didn't your mother come and settle this?"

"She is in the wagon, ill."