The Children's Pilgrimage Part 31

CHAPTER XIV.

A PLAN.

Cecile, impelled by some instinct, had said: "I know Pericard is faithful."

Joe, now turning to the French boy, repeated these few words in his best French:

"She says she knows you are faithful. We are in great danger--in great danger from that bad man Anton. Will you hide us and not betray us?"

To this appeal Cecile had added power by coming up and taking Pericard's hand. He gave a look of devotion to his little princess, nodded to Joe, and, bidding them all follow him, and quickly, left the room.

Down the stairs he took the children, down, down, down! at last they reached the cellars. The cellars, too, were full of human beings; but interested in their own most varied pursuits and callings, they took little notice of the children. They went through one set of cellars, then through another, then through a third. At the third Pericard stopped.

"You are safe here," he said. "These cellars have nothing to say to our house. No one lives in them. They are to be let next week. They are empty now. You will only have the company of the rats here. Don't be afraid of them. If you don't fight them they won't come nigh you, and, anyhow, Toby will keep 'em away. I'll be back when it grows dark. Don't stir till I return. Anton shan't find you here. Little Miss is right. Pericard will be faithful."

After having delivered this little speech in French, Pericard turned a rusty key in a lock behind the children, then let himself out by an underground pa.s.sage directly into the street.

"Now, Joe," said Cecile, coming up at once to where the poor boy was standing, "we are safe here, safe for a little. What is the matter?

What is wrong, dear Joe?"

"Maurice must not hear," said Joe; "it will only make things still harder if little Maurice hears what I have got to say."

"Maurice will not care to hear. See, how sleepy he looks? There is some straw in that corner, some nice clean straw; Maurice shall lie down on it, and go to sleep. I can't make out why we are all so sleepy; but Maurice shall have a good sleep, and then you can talk to me. Toby will stay close to Maurice."

To this arrangement Maurice himself made no objection. He could scarcely keep his eyes open, and the moment he found himself on the bed of straw was sound asleep.

Toby, in obedience to Cecile's summons, sat down by his side, and then the little girl returned to Joe.

"No one can hear us now. What is wrong, Jography?"

"This is wrong," said Joe, in a low, despairing voice: "I'm a ruined lad. Ef I don't rob you, and become a thief, I'm a quite ruined lad.

I'll never, never see my mother nor my brother Jean. I'm quite ruined, Missie, dear."

"But how, Joe. How?"

"Missie, that man wot come wid us all the way from Normandy, he's a spy and a thief. He wants yer purse, Missie, darling, and he says as he'll get it come what may. He wor at that farm in Kent when you was there, and he heard all about the purse, and he wor determined to get it. That wor why he tried to make friends wid us, and would not let out as he knew a word of English. Then last night he put some'ut in the soup to make us hall sleep sound, and he looked for the purse and he could not find it; and this morning he called me away, to say as he knows my old master wot I served in Lunnon, and that I wor apprenticed quite proper to him, and that by the law I could not run away without being punished. He said, Anton did, that he would lock me hup in prison this werry day, and then go and find Ma.s.senger, and give me back to him. I am never, never to see my old mother now. For I'm to go to prison if I don't give up yer purse to Anton, Missie."

"But you would not take the Russia-leather purse that I was given to take care of for Lovedy? You would rather be shut up in prison than touch my purse or gold?" said Cecile.

It was nearly dark in the cellar; but the child's eyes shining with a steadfast light, were looking full at Joe. He returned their gaze as steadfastly.

"Missie, dear, 'tis a hard thing to give up seeking of yer own mother, and to go back to blows and starvation. But Joe 'ull do it.

He once said, Missie Cecile, that he'd rayther be cut in pieces nor touch that purse o' gold. This is like being cut in pieces. But I'll stand up to wot I said. I'll go wid Anton when he comes back. But wot puzzles me is, how he'll get the purse from you, Missie? and how ere you two little mites ever to find Lovedy without your Joe to guide yer?"

"Yes, Joe, you shall guide us; for now I have got something to say --such a wonderful, wonderful thing, Joe dear."

Then Cecile related all about her strange dream, all about Pericard taking them to the Faubourg St. G----, then of her finding Miss Smith, of her intrusting the purse to Miss Smith, and finally of the clever, clever manner in which Miss Smith had sewn the money that was necessary to take them to the south of France into her little winsey frock. All this did Cecile tell with glowing cheeks and eager voice, and only one mistake did she make. For, trusting Joe fully, she showed him the little piece of paper which anyone presenting to Miss Smith could obtain the purse in exchange.

Poor Joe! he bitterly rued that knowledge by and by, but now his feelings were all thankfulness.

"Then Anton can't get the purse: you ha'n't got it to give to him!"

"No; and if he comes and finds us, I will tell him so my own self; it won't do him no good putting you in prison, for he shan't never get Lovedy's purse."

"Thank G.o.d," said Joe, in a tone of deep and great relief. "Oh!

Missie, that's a good, good guide o' your'n, and poor Joe 'ull love Him now."

"Yes, Jography, was it not lovely, lovely of Him? I know He means you to go on taking care of us little children; and, Jography, I'm only quite a little girl, but I've got a plan in my head, and you must listen. My Aunt Lydia wanted to get the purse; and me and Maurice, we ran away from her and afterward we saw her again in London, and she wanted our purse we were sure, and then we ran away again. Now, Joe, could not we run away this time too? Why should we see that wicked, wicked Anton any more?"

"Yes, Missie, but he's werry clever; werry clever indeed, Anton is, and he 'ud foller of us; he knows 'tis down south we're going, and he'd come down south too."

"Yes; but, Joe, perhaps south is a big place, as big as London or Paris, it might not be so easy for him to find us; you might get safe back to your old mother and your good brother Jean, and I might see Lovedy before Anton had found us again, then we should not care what he did; and, Jography, what I've been thinking is that as we're in great danger, it can't be wrong to spend just a franc or two out of my winsey frock on you, and when Pericard comes back this evening I'll ask him to direct us to some place where a train can take us all a good bit of the way. You don't know how fast the train took me and Maurice and Toby to London, and perhaps it would take us a good bit of the way south so that Anton could not find us; that is my plan, Joe, and you won't have to go to prison, Joe, dear."

CHAPTER XV.

AN ESCAPE.

It was very late, in fact quite night, when Pericard returned. By this time the rats had come out in troops, and even Toby could scarcely keep them at bay. He barked, however, loudly, and ran about, and so kept them from absolutely attacking the children. By this, however, he exposed them to another danger, for his noise must soon have been heard in the street above, and it was well for them that the cellar in which they were hiding was not in the same house with Anton.

It was, as I said, quite late at night when Pericard arrived. He let himself in, not by the entrance through which he had come previously, but by the underground pa.s.sage. He carried a dark lantern in one hand, and a neat little basket in the other. Never was knight of old more eagerly welcomed than was this French boy now by the poor little prisoners. They were all cold and hungry, and the rushing and sc.r.a.ping of the rats had filled their little hearts with most natural alarm.

Pericard came in softly, and laying down his dark lantern proceeded to unpack the contents of the basket. It contained cold sausages, broken bits of meat, and some rolls b.u.t.tered and cut in two: there was also a pint bottle of _vin ordinaire_.

Pericard broke the neck of the bottle on the cellar wall. He then gave the children a drink by turns in a little tin mug.

"And now," he said in French, "we must be off. Anton is in the house; he is waiting for you all; he is roaring with anger and rage; he would be out looking for you, but luckily--or you could not escape --he is lame. The brave good dog bit him severely in the leg, and now he cannot walk; and the grandmere has to poultice his leg. He thinks I have gone to fetch you, for I pretend to be on his side. You have just to-night to get away in; but I don't answer for the morning, for Anton is so dying to get hold of Joe there that he will use his leg, however he suffers, after to-night. You have just this one short night in which to make your escape."

Then Joe told Cecile's plan to Pericard, and Pericard nodded, and said it was good--only he could not help opening his eyes very widely at the idea of three such little beggars, as he termed the children, being able to afford the luxury of going by train. As, however, it was impossible and, dangerous to confide in him any further, and as Cecile had already given Joe the number of francs they thought they should require out of her frock, he had to bear his curiosity in silence.

Pericard, who was well up to Paris, and knew not only every place of amus.e.m.e.nt, nearly every stall-owner, nearly every trade, and every possible way of securing a sou, but also had in his head a fund of odd knowledge with regard to railway stations, could now counsel the children what station to go to, and even what train to take on their way south.

He said they would probably be in time if they started at once to catch a midnight train to Orleans; that for not too large a sum they might travel third-cla.s.s to Orleans, which city they would reach the next morning. It was a large place, and as it would be impossible for Anton to guess that they had gone by train at all, they would have such a good start of him that he would probably not be able to find them again.

Pericard also proposed that they should start at once, and as they had no money to spare for cabs or omnibuses, they must walk to the distant terminus from which they must start for the south. How strange they felt as they walked through the gayly-lighted streets!

How tired was Maurice! how delighted Joe! how dreamy and yet calm and trustful, was Cecile. Since the vision about her purse, her absolute belief in her Guide knew no bounds.

As near and dear, as certain and present, was He now to Cecile as if in reality he was holding her little hand; as if in reality He was carrying tired Maurice. He was there, the Goal was certain, the End sure. When they got to the great big terminus she still felt dreamlike, allowing Joe and Pericard to get their tickets and make all arrangements. Then the children and dog found themselves in a third-cla.s.s compartment. Toby was well and skillfully hidden under the seat, the whistle sounded, and Pericard came close and took Cecile's hand. She was only a little child, but she was his princess, the first sweet and lovely thing he had ever seen. Cecile raised her lips to kiss him.

"Good-by, Pericard--good Pericard--faithful Pericard."

Then the train pulled slowly out of the station, and the children were carried into the unknown darkness, and Pericard went home. He never saw the children again. But all through his after-life he carried a memory about with him of them, and when he heard of the good G.o.d and the angels, this wild Paris lad would cross himself devoutly, and think of Cecile.