The Twins and their Father followed the resolute figure of Mother
Meraut down the street, not knowing at all where she was leading them,
but with implicit confidence that she knew what she was about. She was
carrying the heaviest bundles, and the Twins carried the rest between
them, packed in a clothes-basket. On her other arm Pierrette bore her
dearly loved Jacqueline. Father Meraut could carry nothing but such
small articles as could be put in his pockets, but it was joy enough
that he could carry himself, and it was quite wonderful to see how
speedily he got over the ground with his crutch.
Not far from their house in the Rue Charly ran the River Vesle, which
flows through Rheims, and as the Merauts knew well a man whose business
it was to let boats to pleasure parties in summer, the children were
not surprised to see their Mother walk down the street toward the
little wharf where his boats were kept. He was waiting to receive them,
and, drawn up to the water's edge was a red and white row-boat, with
the name "The Ark" painted upon her prow. Mother Meraut smiled when she
saw the name. "If we only had the animals to go in two by two, we
should be just like Noah and his family, shouldn't we?" she said, as
she put the bundles in the stern.
In a few moments they were all seated in the boat, with their few
belongings carefully balanced, and Jacqueline safely reposing in
Pierrette's lap. The boatman pushed them away from the pier. "Au
revoir," called Mother Meraut as the boat slid into the stream. "We
will come back again when the Germans are gone, and in some way I shall
have a chance to send your boat to you, I know. Meanwhile we will take
good care of it."
"There will be few pleasure-seekers on the Vesle this summer," answered
the boat-man, "and the Ark will be safer with you than rotting at the
pier, let alone the chance of its being blown up by a shell. I'm glad
you've got her, and glad you are going away from Rheims. It will be
easy pulling, for you're going down-stream, and about all you'll have
to do is to keep her headed right. Au revoir, and good luck." He stood
on the pier looking after them and waving his hat until they were well
out in the middle of the stream.
Father Meraut had the oars, and, as his arms had not been injured, he
was able to guide the boat without fatigue, and soon the current had
carried them through the City and out into the open country which lay
beyond. Mother Meraut sat in the prow, looking back toward the
Cathedral she had so loved, until the blackened towers were hidden from
view by trees along the riverbank. They had started early in order to
be well out of Rheims before the daily bombardment should begin.
Spring was already in the air, and as they drifted along they heard the
skylarks singing in the fields. The trees were turning green, and there
were blossoms on the apple trees. The wild flowers along the riverbank
were already humming with bees, and the whole scene seemed so peaceful
and quiet after all they had endured in Rheims, that even the
shell-holes left in the fields which had been fought over in the autumn
and the crosses marking the graves of fallen soldiers did not sadden
them.
Mother Meraut sat for a long time silent, then heaved a deep sigh of
relief. "I feel like Lot's wife looking back upon Sodom and Gomorrah,"
she said. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she kissed her
finger-tips and blew the kiss toward Rheims. "Farewell, my beautiful
City!" she cried. "It is not for your sins we must leave you! And some
happy day we shall return."
There was a report, and a puff of smoke far away over the City, then
the sound of a distant explosion. The daily bombardment had begun!
"Your friends are firing a farewell salute," said Father Meraut.
All the morning they slipped quietly along between greening banks,
carried by the current farther and farther down-stream. At noon they
drew the boat ashore beneath some willow trees, where they ate their
lunch, and then spent an hour in such rest as they had not had for many
weary months.
It was then, and not until then, that Father Meraut ventured to ask
his wife her plans. "My dear," he said, as he stretched himself out in
a sunny spot and put his head in Pierrette's lap, "I have great
confidence in you, and will follow you willingly anywhere, but I should
really like to know where we are going."
Mother Meraut looked at him in surprise. "Why, haven't I told you?" she
said "My mind has been so full of it I can't believe you didn't know
that we are going to my father's, if we can get there! You know their
village is on a little stream which flows into the Aisne some distance
beyond its junction with the Vesle. We could drift down to the place
where the two rivers join, and go on from there to the little stream
which flows past Fontanelle. Then we could row up-stream to the
village."
"It's as plain as day, now you tell it," answered her husband, "and a
very good plan, too."
"You see," said Mother Meraut, as she packed away the remains of the
lunch, "I haven't heard a word from them all winter. I don't know
whether they are dead or alive. I haven't said anything about it,
because you were so ill and there were so many other worries, but this
plan has been in my mind all the time. What we shall do when we get to
Fontanelle I do not know, but we shall be no worse off than other
refugees, and at any rate we shall not be under shell-fire every day."
"If we can't find any place to stay there, why can't we go on and on
down the river, until we get clear to the sea," said Pierre with
enthusiasm.
"It's just like being gypsies, isn't it?" added Pierrette.
"So far as I can see," said Mother Meraut, "we've got to go on and on!
Certainly we can't go back."
"No, we can't go back," echoed her husband, with a sigh.
All the pleasant afternoon they drifted peacefully along, and nightfall
found them in open country. It began to grow colder as darkness came
on. "We shall need all our blankets if we are to sleep in the fields,"
said Mother Meraut at last. "It's time for supper and bed, anyway.
Let's go ashore."
"We'll build a fire on the bank and cook our supper there," said her
husband.
"What is there, Mother, that we can cook?"
"There are eggs to fry, and potatoes to roast in the ashes," she
answered, "and coffee besides."
"I am as hungry as a wolf," said Pierrette.
"I'm as hungry as two wolves," said Pierre.
They found a landing-place, and the Ark was drawn ashore. Pierre and
Pierrette ran at once to gather sticks and leaves. These they brought
to their Father, and soon a cheerful fire flamed red against the
shadows. Then the smell of coffee floated out upon the evening air, and
the sputter of frying eggs gave further promise to their hungry
stomachs.
Before they had finished their supper the stars were winking down at
them, and over the brow of a distant hill rose a slender crescent moon.
Pierrette saw it first. "Oh," she cried, "the new moon! And I saw it
over my right shoulder, too! We are sure to have wonderful luck this
month."
Pierre shut his eyes. "Which way is it?" he cried. Pierrette turned him
carefully about so that he too might see it over his right shoulder,
and then, this ceremony completed, they washed the dishes and helped
pack the things carefully away in the clothes-basket once more.
They slept that night under the edge of a straw-stack in the meadow
near the river, and though they were homeless wanderers without a roof
to cover them, they slept well, and awakened next morning to the music
of bird-songs instead of to the sound of guns and the whistling of
shells.