THE RESCUE
Something warm passing over her face made her open her eyes. Dimly she
saw a large velvety head bending over her. In terror she tried to throw
herself on one side, but a big tongue licked her cheek and held her to
the grass. So quickly had this happened that she had not had time to
recognize the big velvety head which belonged to a donkey, but while the
great tongue continued to lick her face and hands she was able to look
up at it.
Palikare! It was dear, dear Palikare! She threw her arms around her
donkey's neck and burst into tears.
"My darling, dear, darling Palikare," she murmured.
When he heard his name he stopped licking her and lifting his head he
sent forth five or six triumphant brays of happiness. Then, as though
that was not enough to express his contentment, he let out five or six
more, but not quite so loud.
Perrine then noticed that he was without a harness or a rope.
While she stroked him with her hand and he bent his long ears down to
her, she heard a hoarse voice calling:
"What yer found, old chap? I'll be there in a minute. I'm comin', old
boy."
[Illustration: SOMETHING WARM PASSING OVER HER FACE MADE HER OPEN HER
EYES.]
There was a quick step on the road, and Perrine saw what appeared to be
a man dressed in a smock and wearing a leather hat and with a pipe in
his mouth.
"Hi, kid, what yer doin' with my donkey?" he cried, without taking the
pipe from his lip.
Then Perrine saw that it was the rag woman to whom she had sold Palikare
at the Horse Market. The woman did not recognize her at first. She
stared hard at her for a moment.
"Sure I've seen yer somewhere," she said at last.
"It was I who sold you Palikare," said Perrine.
"Why, sure it's you, little one, but what in Heaven's name are you doin'
here?"
Perrine could not reply. She was so giddy her head whirled. She had been
sitting up, but now she was obliged to lie down again, and her pallor
and tears spoke for her.
"What's the matter? Are you sick?" demanded La Rouquerie.
Although Perrine moved her lips as though to speak, no sound came. Again
she was sinking into unconsciousness, partly from emotion, partly from
weakness.
But La Rouquerie was a woman of experience; she had seen all miseries.
"The kid's dying of hunger," she muttered to herself.
She hurried over the road to a little truck over the sides of which
were spread out some dried rabbit skins. The woman quickly opened a box
and took out a slice of bread, a piece of cheese and a bottle. She
carried it back on the run.
Perrine was still in the same condition.
"One little minute, girlie; one little minute," she said encouragingly.
Kneeling down beside little Perrine, she put the bottle to her lips.
"Take a good drink; that'll keep you up," she said.
True, the good drink brought the blood back to her cheeks.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes," murmured Perrine.
"Well, now you must eat, but gently; wait a minute."
She broke off a piece of bread and cheese and offered it to her.
"Eat it slowly," she said, advisedly, for already Perrine had devoured
the half of what was handed to her. "I'll eat with you, then you won't
eat so fast."
Palikare had been standing quietly looking on with his big soft eyes.
When he saw La Rouquerie sit down on the grass beside Perrine, he also
knelt down beside them.
"The old rogue, he wants a bite, too," said the woman.
"May I give him a piece?" asked Perrine.
"Yes, you can give him a piece or two. When we've eaten this there is
more in the cart. Give him some; he is so pleased to see you again, good
old boy. You know he _is_ a good boy."
"Yes, isn't he a dear?" said Perrine, softly.
"Now when you've eaten that you can tell me how you come to be in these
woods pretty near starved to death. Sure it'd be a pity for you to kick
the bucket yet awhile."
After she had eaten as much as was good for her, Perrine told her story,
commencing with the death of her mother. When she came to the scene she
had had with the baker woman at St. Denis, the woman took her pipe from
her mouth and called the baker woman some very bad names.
"She's a thief, a thief!" she cried. "I've never given bad money to no
one, 'cause I never take any from nobody. Be easy! She'll give that back
to me next time I pass by her shop, or I'll put the whole neighborhood
against her. I've friends at St. Denis, and we'll set her store on fire
if she don't give it up!"
Perrine finished her story.
"You was just about goin' to die," said La Rouquerie; "what was the
feelin' like?"
"At first I felt very sad," said Perrine, "and I think I must have cried
like one cries in the night when one is suffocating; then I dreamed of
Heaven and of the good food I should have there. Mama, who was waiting
for me, had made me some milk chocolate; I could smell it."
"It's funny that this heat wave, which was going to kill you, really
was the cause of yer bein' saved. If it hadn't been for this darned heat
I never should have stopped to let that donkey rest in this wood, and
then he wouldn't have found yer. What cher goin' to do now?"
"Go on my way."
"And tomorrow? What yer got to eat? One's got to be young like you to
take such a trip as this."
"But what could I do?"
La Rouquerie gravely took two or three puffs at her pipe. She was
thoughtful for a moment; then she said:
"See here, I'm goin' as far as Creil, no farther. I'm buyin' odds and
ends in the villages as I go along. It's on the way to Chantilly, so you
come along with me. Now yell out a bit if you've got the strength:
'Rabbit skins! Rags and bones to sell!'"
Perrine straightened herself and cried out as she was told.
"That's fine! You've got a good, clear voice. As I've got a sore throat,
you can do the calling out for me, so like that you'll earn your grub.
When we get to Creil I know a farmer there who goes as far as Amiens to
get eggs and things. I'll ask him to take you in his cart. When you get
to Amiens you can take the train to where yer relations hang out."
"But what with? How can I take a train?"
"I'll advance you the five francs that I'm goin' to get back from that
baker. I'll get it! So I'll give yer five francs for your fare."