MAURICE TAKES THE MANAGEMENT OF AFFAIRS.
After many weeks of wandering about, the children found themselves in a
little village, about three miles from the town of Arcachon. This
village was in the midst of a forest covering many thousand acres of
land. They had avoided the seaport town of Arcachon, dreading its
fashionable appearance; but they hailed the little village with delight.
It was a pretty place, peaceful and sunny; and here the people
cultivated their vines and fruit trees, and lived, the poorer folks
quite in the village, the better-off inhabitants in neat farmhouses
close by. These farmhouses were in the midst of fields, with cattle
browsing in the meadows.
Altogether, the village was the most civilized-looking place the
children had stopped at since they entered what had been a few years
ago the dreary desert of the Landes. Strange to say, however, here, for
the first time, the weary little pilgrims met with a cold reception.
The people in the village of Moulleau did not care for boys who played
the fiddle, and dogs that tried clumsily to accompany it. They looked
with a fine lack of sympathy at Cecile's pathetic blue eyes, and
Maurice was nothing more to them than a rather dirty little sunburnt
boy.
One or two of the inns even refused the children a night's lodging for
money, and so disagreeable did those that did take them in make
themselves that after the first night Cecile and Joe determined to
sleep in the forest close by. it was now April, the weather was
delicious, and in the forest of pines and oak trees not a breath of
wind ever seemed to enter. Joe, looking round, found an old tumbledown
hut. In the hut was a pile of dry pine needles. These pine needles made
a much snugger bed than they had found in a rather dirty inn in the
village; and, still greater an advantage, they could use this pleasant
accommodation free of all charge.
It was, indeed, necessary to economize, for the francs sewn into the
winsey frock would come to an end by and by.
The children found to their dismay that they had by no means taken a
direct road to the Pyrenees, but had wandered about, and had been
misdirected many times.
There was one reason, however, which induced Cecile to stay for a few
days in the forest close to the village of Moulleau.
This was the reason: Amongst the many sunny farms around, was one, the
smallest there, but built on a slight eminence, and resembling in some
slight and vague way, not so much its neighbors, as the low-roofed,
many-thatched English farmhouse of Warren's Grove. Cecile felt
fascinated by this farm with its English frontage. She could not
explain either her hopes or her fears with regard to it. But an
unaccountable desire was over her to remain in the forest for a short
time before they proceeded on their journey.
"Let us rest here just one day longer," she would plead in her gentle
way; and Joe, though seeing no reason for what seemed like unnecessary
delay, nevertheless yielded to her demand.
He was not idle himself. As neither fiddling nor dancing seemed to pay,
he determined to earn money in some other manner; so, as there were
quantities of fir cones in the forests, he collected great piles and
took them into Arcachon for sale.
While Joe was away, sometimes accompanied by Maurice, sometimes alone,
Cecile would yield to that queer fascination, which seemed
unaccountable, and wander silently, and yet with a certain anxiety to
the borders of that English-looking farm.
Never did she dare to venture within its precincts. But she would come
to the edge of the paling which divided its rich meadows from the road,
and watch the cattle browsing, and the cocks, and hens, and ducks and
geese, going in and out, with wistful and longing eyes.
Once, from under the low and pretty porch, she saw a child run eagerly,
with shouts of laughter. This child, aged about two, had golden hair
and a fair skin. Cecile had seen no child like him in the village. He
Looked like an English boy. How did he and that English-looking farm
get into the sequestered forest of the Landes?
After seeing the child, Cecile went back to her hut, sat down on the
pine needles, and began to think.
Never yet had she obtained the faintest clew to her search.
Looking everywhere for blue eyes and golden hair, it seemed to Cecile
that such things had faded from the earth. And now! but no, what would
bring the English girl Lovedy there?
Why should Lovedy be at Moulleau more than at any other village in the
Landes? and in any case what had the English-looking child to say to
Lovedy?
Cecile determined to put any vague hopes out of her head. They must
leave Moulleau the next morning; that she had promised Joe. Whenever
Lovedy did come across their path, she would come in very different
guise. But still, try as she would, Cecile's thoughts returned over and
over again to the golden-haired laddie, and these thoughts, which came
almost against her will, might have led to results which would have
quickly solved her difficulties, but for an event which occurred just
then.
This event, terrible and anxious, put all remembrance of the English
farm and English child far from her mind.
Joe had made rather a good day at Arcachon selling his pine cones; and
Maurice, who had gone with him, and had tried in his baby fashion to
help him, had returned to the hut very tired, and so sleepy that, after
eating a little bread and fruit, he lay down on the pine needles and
went sound asleep. Generally tired and healthy, little Maurice slept
without moving until the morning. But this night, contrary to his wont,
he found himself broad awake before Cecile or Joe had lain down. Joe, a
lighted fir cone in his hand, which he carefully guarded from the dry
pine needles, was sitting close to Cecile, who was reading aloud to him
out of the Testament which Mrs. Moseley had given to her. Cecile read
aloud to Joe every night, and this time her solemn little voice
stumbled slowly over the words, "He that loveth father or mother more
than Me is not worthy of Me."
"I think as that is a bit hard," interrupted Joe. "I wonder ef Jesus
could tell wot a hankering a feller has fur his mother when he ain't
seen her fur seven years? Why, Miss Cecile, I'm real starved fur my
mother. I dreams of her hevery night, and I feels as tho' we 'ud never,
never get back to the dear blue mountains again. No," continued Joe,
shaking his dark head, "I never, never could love Jesus better nor my
mother."
"I don't remember my mother," said Cecile; "and I think I love Jesus
the Guide even better than I love Maurice. But oh, Joe, I'm a selfish
little girl. I ought not to stay on here when you want to see your
mother so very badly. We will start to your mountains quite, quite
early in the morning, Joe."
"Thank yer, Missie," said Joe, with a very bright smile; and then,
having put the pine carefully out, the two children also lay down to
sleep.
But little Maurice, who had heard every word, was still quite wide
awake. Maurice, who loved his forest life, and who quite hated these
long and enforced marches, felt very cross. Why should they begin to
walk again? _He_ had no interest in these long and interminable
rambles. How often his feet used to ache! How blistered they often
were! And now that the weather was so warm and sunny, little Maurice
got tired even sooner than in the winter's cold. No; what he loved was
lying about under the pine trees, and watching the turpentine trickling
very slowly into the tin vessels fastened to their trunks; and then he
liked to look at the squirrels darting merrily from bough to bough, and
the rabbits running about, and the birds flying here and there. This
was the life Maurice loved. This was south. Cecile had always told him
they were going south. Well, was not this south, this pleasant, balmy
forest-land. What did they want with anything further? Maurice
reflected with dismay over the tidings that they were to leave quite
early in the morning. He felt inclined to cry, to wake Cecile, to get
her to promise not to go. Suddenly an idea, and what he considered
quite a brilliant idea, entered his baby mind. Cecile and Joe had
arranged to commence their march quite early in the morning.
Suppose--suppose he, Maurice, slipped softly from the old hut and hid
himself in the forest. Why, then, they would not go; they would never
dream of leaving Maurice behind. He could come back to them when the
sun was high in the heavens; and then Joe would pronounce it too hot to
go on any journey that day. Thus he would secure another long day in
his beloved woods.