GOING HOME BY TRAIN
IT was with real regret that our little friends parted from the good
barge people and their floating home, as well as from the beautiful
city of Rouen, where they had seen so much, and had such a good time.
Germaine, who had not been before in a big railway station, was
somewhat bewildered at the confusion about her, while Jean, who had
been once to Mantes, was proud to be able to explain things to her. The
tall man in a blue uniform was the station-master, and one could always
tell him from the other blue-uniformed officials, because he wore a
white cap. It was his duty to send off the trains, which he does by
blowing a small whistle, after which some one rings a hand-bell that
sounds like a dinner-bell, and off goes the train.
The men who were pushing luggage around on small hand-trucks were the
porters, in blue blouses like any French working man, except they were
belted in at the waist by a broad band of red and black stripes.
Presently the station-master whistled off their train. "Keep a sharp
lookout," said Uncle Daboll, "and, as soon as we leave this tunnel we
are now going through, look out on the right side and you will have a
fine view of the city."
Sure enough, in a few minutes they were on the bridge, crossing the
river, and before them stretched out a panorama of Rouen, with a jumble
of factory chimneys and church spires, and rising above all the grand
three-towered cathedral.
Perhaps American children might like to know what French trains
are like; they are so different from theirs in every way. To begin
with, there are first, second and third class cars,--carriages, they
are called,--and each carriage is divided into compartments, each
compartment holding six persons in the first class, three on each side,
and eight persons in the second, and in the third class, five on a
side--ten in all. There is a door and two small windows in each end of
a compartment.
The first and second classes have cushioned seats, but there are only
wooden benches in the third. In many of the third class the divisions
between the compartments are not carried up to the roof, and one can
look over and see who his neighbours may be. The people who travel
third class on French railways are a very sociable lot, and every
one soon gets to talking. A French third class carriage under these
conditions is the liveliest place you were ever in, especially when the
train stops at a town on market-day and many people are about, as they
were on this occasion.
Well! Such a hubbub, and such a time as they had getting all their
various baskets and belongings in with them.
The big ruddy-faced women pulled themselves in with great difficulty,
for these trains are high from the ground and hard to get into,
especially when one has huge baskets on one's arm, and innumerable
boxes and bundles are being pushed in after one by friends.
The men come with farming tools, bags of potatoes, and their big
_sabots_, all taking up a lot of room.
One tall stout woman, with a basket in either hand, got stuck in the
doorway until Uncle Daboll gave her a helping hand and her friends
pushed her from the outside. She finally plumped down on a seat quite
out of breath, when from under the cover of one basket two ducks' heads
appeared with a loud "quack, quack, quack." "Ah, my beauties, get
back," and she tapped them playfully and shut the lid down, but out
popped their heads again with another series of "quacks," just like a
double jack-in-the-box. How the children laughed, and that made them
all friends at once.
Germaine offered to hold one of her baskets, for there was not a bit of
room in the overhead racks, or anywhere else. When she took it on her
knee, she thought she saw a gleam of bright eyes through the cracks,
and sure enough it was full of little white rabbits. The old woman,
seeing her interest, let her stroke their sensitive little ears, while
she told how she had bought them at a _bon marché_, a good bargain, and
was taking them home to her grandchild, just Germaine's age.
Next to her were two women who were evidently carrying on some dispute
that had begun early in the day, and each was bent on having the last
word. So their talk went on, an endless stream, while the fat woman sat
by and laughed at them both. Perhaps no wonder one of them was cross.
She looked every little while at a big basket of eggs she carried,
some of which were broken, and with small wonder, it would seem to
inexperienced eyes, for they were packed in the basket without anything
between them. When she found one badly broken, she swallowed it, as
much as to say, "That is safe anyway," and then she would talk faster
than ever.
Uncle Daboll talked to the man next him about market prices, and the
cider crop, and what a fine fruit year it was. One had only to look out
at the orchards they were passing to see the truth of this, for the
apple-trees were so full of fruit that branches had to be propped up
with poles to keep them from breaking down.
In the next compartment a party of four were playing dominoes, one of
the women who was with them having spread out her apron for a table.
Another party was evidently making up for a meal they had lost, while
doing business. The mother took from a basket a part of a big loaf,
from which she cut slices and distributed them, with a bit of cheese,
to her party, at the same time passing around a jug of cider.
There was an exciting time when one of the chickens escaped from a
market-basket and had to be chased all over the carriage. Such a
clattering of tongues, flapping of wings, and distressful clucks from
the poor fowl, which was at last caught just as she was about to fly
out of a window, were never heard before.
The chattering was increased by elaborate good-byes, as one by one the
passengers dropped off at the small stations. No one grumbled at having
to help sort out the luggage each time, but cheerfully and politely
helped disentangle the belongings of the departing ones, and carefully
helped to lift the baskets on to the platform, amid profuse thanks,
where more friends and relations met them, and there was as much
kissing on both cheeks as if they had been on a long journey instead of
merely to market.
At one of the stops Germaine noticed a woman, holding a horn and a
small red flag, standing by the sliding gates, where the road crossed
the railway. She had seen these women before along the line, and
her uncle explained that the railway is fenced in on either side by
hedges or wire fencing, and wherever a road or street crossed, there
are gates, which must be kept closed while trains are passing. Not
only must the gatekeeper, who is generally a woman, have the gates
tight shut, but she must also stand beside them like a soldier at his
post, with her brass horn in one hand and a red flag, rolled up, in
the other, showing that she is prepared for any emergency. If she
were not there, the engineer of the passing train would report it to
headquarters, and she would doubtless be dismissed. The gatekeeper
lives in a neat cottage adjoining, and some minutes before each train
is due she takes the horn and flag from where they hang on the wall,
and is at her post.
At the station were M. and Madame Lafond to welcome them home, and you
can imagine how everybody talked at once, and how much there was to
tell. The fête at Rouen was the topic of conversation until its glories
paled before Petit Andelys' own special fête, which was held some weeks
after, and which our little friends, with true French patriotism,
thought the finest in the world, not excepting the more elaborate
affair at Rouen.