"Come, little one, wake up; I shouldn't like to upset you."
When he said that, I saw, rising from a mattress, a pretty little
girl, apparently about fifteen or sixteen years old, who rubbed her
eyes, and asked what had happened.
"The road is bad, daughter," said the man, taking her up in his arms.
"Come, I can't let you get your feet wet,--for you must know," he
added, turning to my father, "she is ill with fever from having grown
so fast. Just see what a rampant vine she is for a girl of eleven
and a half!"
"True as God," said my father; "she is a fine sprig of a girl, and
pretty as the sunshine, though the fever has rather paled her. But
that will go off; feed her up, and she won't sell the worse for it."
When my father said this his head was still full of the talk of the
horse-dealers at the fair. But seeing that the girl had left her
sabots in the cart, and that it would be no easy matter to find them,
he said to me,--
"Here! you are strong enough to hold the little girl for a while."
Then, putting her into my arms, he harnessed our mare into the place
of the useless donkey, and pulled the cart out of the mud-hole. But
there was another quagmire farther on, as my father knew, having gone
that road several times; so calling to me to come on, he walked in
front with the peasant, who was twisting his ass's ears.
I carried the great girl and looked at her with amazement; for though
she was a head taller than Brulette, I could see by her figure that
she was no older.
She was white and slender as a wax taper, and her black hair,
breaking loose from a little cap made in the fashion of other parts,
which had been rumpled as she slept, fell over my breast and almost
down to my knees. I had never seen anything so perfect as her pale
face, her clear blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, her gentle,
tired air, and even a perfectly black mark at one corner of her
mouth, which made her beauty something strange and never to be
forgotten.
She seemed so young that my heart said nothing to me, though it was
close to hers; yet it was not so much her want of years, perhaps, as
the languor of her illness that made her appear so childish. I did
not speak to her, and walked along without thinking her heavy; but I
took pleasure in looking at her, the same pleasure that one feels at
the sight of any fine thing, whether it be a girl or a woman, a
flower or a fruit.
As we neared the second mud-hole, where her father and mine began,
the one to urge his horse, the other to shove the wheel, the little
girl spoke to me in a language which made me laugh, for I did not
understand a word of it. She was surprised at my surprise, and then
she spoke in the language we all speak.
"Don't strain yourself carrying me," she said; "I can walk very well
without sabots; I am as much used to it as others."
"Yes, but you are ill," said I; "and I could carry four like you.
What country do you belong to? That was a queer language you spoke
just now."
"What country?" she said. "I don't belong to any country; I come
from the woods, that's all. And you, where do you come from?"
"Ah! my little fairy, if you belong to the woods, I belong to the
fields," I answered, laughing.
I was going to question her further, when her father came and took
her from me.
"Well," he said, shaking hands with my father, "I thank you, my good
people. And you, little one, kiss the kind lad who has carried you
like a load of game."
The child did as she was bid; she was not old enough to be coy, and
thinking no harm, she made no difficulty. She kissed me on both
cheeks, saving: "Thanks to you, my fine carrier;" then, passing into
her father's arms, she was laid on her mattress, and seemed about to
go to sleep again, without minding the jolts or thinking about the
risks of the journey.
"Good-bye again!" said her father, taking me by the knee, to mount me
on the mare's crupper. "A fine lad!" he remarked to my father,
looking me over, "and as forward for the age you say he is as my
little girl is for hers."
"He is a little the worse for it in the way of health," answered my
father; "but, God willing, work will soon cure him. Excuse us if we
go on before you; we have far to go, and I want to get home before
night."
Thereupon my father struck his heels into the mare, which trotted
off, while I, looking back, saw the man turn his cart to the right,
and go off in another direction.
I was soon thinking of something else, but a recollection of Brulette
coming into my head, I remembered the free kisses the little girl had
given me, and wondered why Brulette always slapped me when I tried to
get a kiss from her; then, as the ride was long, and I had got up
before daylight, I fell asleep behind my father, mixing up in my
tired head, I'm sure I don't know how, the faces of the two little
girls.
My father pinched me to wake up, for he felt my weight on his
shoulders, and was afraid I should tumble off. I asked him who those
people we had met were.
"Which of them do you mean?" he said, laughing at my sleepy way. "We
have met more than five hundred since morning."
"Those with the cart and donkey," I replied.
"Oh!" said he, "well, faith, I don't know; I never thought to ask.
Probably they come from either La Marche or Champagne, for they speak
with a foreign accent; but I was so busy watching to see if the mare
was good at the collar that I didn't take notice of much else. She
does pull very well, and didn't hang back at all; I think she will
prove serviceable, and that I have not paid too dear for her."
From that time on (the trip having certainly done me good) I got
better and better, and took a liking for work. My father gave me
first the care of the mare, then that of the garden, and finally that
of the field; and, little by little, I came to take pleasure in
digging, planting, and harvesting.
By that time my father was a widower, and seemed anxious to let me
benefit by the property my mother had left me. So he gave me a share
in all our little profits, and wished for nothing so much as to see
me turn out a good farmer. It was not long before he found I had a
relish for the life; for if youth needs courage to deprive itself of
pleasure in the service of others, it needs none at all to work for
its own interests, above all when they are in common with those of a
worthy family, honest in the division of profits, and agreeing well
as to the work.
I still continued rather fond of gossiping and amusing myself on
Sundays. But no one blamed me for that at home, because I was a good
worker during the week. Such a life brought me health of body and
good-humor, and a little more sense in my head than I gave promise of
at first. I forgot all the vaporings of love, for nothing keeps you
so quiet as to sweat with a spade from sunrise to sunset; and when
night comes, those who have had to do with the heavy, rich soil of
our parts (the hardest mistress there is), amuse themselves best by
going to sleep, to be ready for the morrow.
That is how I peacefully reached the age when it is allowable to
think, not of little girls, but of grown-up ones; and at the very
first stirring of such ideas, I found my cousin Brulette still fixed,
above all others, in my inclinations.
Living alone with her grandfather, Brulette had done her best to be
older than her years in sense and courage. But some children are
born with the gift or the fate of being always petted and cared for.
Mariton's former lodging was let to Mère Lamouche, of Vieilleville,
who was poor, and was therefore ready to serve the Brulets as though
they paid her wages, hoping thereby to get a hearing when she
declared herself unable to pay the rent. It so turned out; and
Brulette, finding that the new neighbor helped her, forestalled her,
and made things comfortable for her, had time and ease to grow in
mind and beauty without much effort of soul or body.