A BANQUET IN THE HUT
Perrine was so busy of an evening that she let an entire week pass
before she again went to see Rosalie. However, one of the girls at the
factory who lodged with Mother Francoise had brought her news of her
friend. Perrine, as well as being busy, had been afraid that she might
see that terrible Aunt Zenobie and so she had let the days pass.
Then one evening after work she thought that she would not return at
once to her little island. She had no supper to prepare. The night
before she had caught some fish and cooked it, and she intended to have
it cold for her supper that evening.
Rosalie was alone in the garden sitting under an apple tree. When she
saw Perrine she came to the gate, half pleased, half annoyed.
"I thought that you were not coming any more," she said.
"I've been very busy."
"What with?"
Perrine showed Rosalie her shoes. Then she told her how she had made
herself a chemise and the trouble she had had in cutting it.
"Couldn't you borrow a pair of scissors from the people in your house?"
asked Rosalie in astonishment.
"There is no one in my house who could lend me scissors," replied
Perrine.
"Everybody has scissors!"
Perrine wondered if she ought to keep her abode a secret any longer. She
was afraid that if she did so she might offend Rosalie, so she decided
to tell her.
"Nobody lives in my house," she said smiling.
"Whatever do you mean?" asked Rosalie with round eyes.
"That's so, and that's why, as I wasn't able to borrow a saucepan to cook
my soup in and a spoon to eat it with, I had to make them and I can tell
you that it was harder for me to make my spoon than to make my shoes."
"You're joking!"
"No, really."
Then she told her everything, how she had taken possession of the cabin,
and made her own cooking utensils, and about her search for eggs, and
how she fished and cooked in the gypsy's camping ground.
Rosalie's eyes opened wider still in wonder and delight. She seemed to
be listening to a wonderful story.
When Perrine told her how she made her first sorrel soup, she clapped
her hands.
"Oh, how delicious! How you must have enjoyed it!" she cried. "What
fun!"
"Yes, everything is great fun when things go right," said Perrine; "but
when things won't go! I worked three days for my spoon. I couldn't scoop it
out properly. I spoiled two large pieces of tin and had only one left. And
my! how I banged my fingers with the stones that I had to use in place of a
hammer!"
"But your soup, that's what I'm thinking of," said Rosalie.
"Yes, it was good."
"You know," said Perrine, "there's sorrel and carrots, watercress, onions,
parsnips, turnips, and ever so many things to eat that one can find in the
fields. They are not quite the same as the cultivated vegetables, but they
are good!"
"One ought to know that!"
"It was my father who taught me to know them."
Rosalie was silent for a moment, then she said:
"Would you like me to come and see you?"
"I should love to have you if you'll promise not to tell anyone where I
live," said Perrine, delightedly.
"I promise," said Rosalie, solemnly.
"Well, when will you come?"
"On Sunday I am going to see one of my aunts at Saint-Pipoy; on my way
back in the afternoon I can stop...."
Perrine hesitated for a moment, then she said amiably:
"Do better than just call; stay to dinner with me."
Rosalie, like the real peasant that she was, began to reply vaguely in
a ceremonious fashion, neither saying yes nor no; but it was quite plain
to see that she wished very much to accept the invitation. Perrine
insisted.
"Do come; I shall be so pleased," she said. "I am so lonesome."
"Well, really...." began Rosalie.
"Yes, dine with me; that is settled," said Perrine, brightly; "but you
must bring your own spoon, because I shall not have the time nor the tin
to make another one."
"Shall I bring my bread also? I can...."
"I wish you would. I'll wait for you in the gypsy's ground. You'll find
me doing my cooking."
Perrine was very pleased at the thought of receiving a guest in her own
home ... there was a menu to compose, provisions to find ... what an
affair! She felt quite important. Who would have said a few days before
that she would be able to offer dinner to a friend!
But there was a serious side. Suppose she could not find any eggs or
catch a fish! Her menu then would be reduced to sorrel soup only. What a
dinner!
But fortune favored her. On Friday evening she found some eggs. True,
they were only water-hen's eggs, and not so large as the duck's eggs,
but then she must not be too particular. And she was just as lucky with
her fishing. With a red worm on the end of her line, she managed to
catch a fine perch, which was quite sufficient to satisfy hers and
Rosalie's appetite. Yet, however, she wanted a dessert, and some
gooseberries growing under a weeping willow furnished it. True, they
were not quite ripe, but the merit of this fruit is that you can eat it
green.
When, late Sunday afternoon, Rosalie arrived at the gypsy camping
ground, she found Perrine seated before her fire upon which the soup was
boiling.
"I waited for you to mix the yolk of an egg in the soup," said Perrine.
"You have only to turn it with your free hand while I gently pour the
soup over it; the bread is soaked."
Although Rosalie had dressed herself specially for this dinner, she was
not afraid to help. This was play, and it all seemed very amusing to
her.
Soon the soup was ready, and it only had to be carried across to the
island. This Perrine did.
The cabin door was open, and Rosalie could see before she entered that
the place was filled with flowers. In each corner were grouped, in
artistic showers, wild roses, yellow iris, cornflowers, and poppies, and
the floor was entirely covered with a beautiful soft green moss.
Rosalie's exclamations of delight amply repaid Perrine for all the
trouble she had taken.
"How beautiful! Oh, isn't it pretty!" she exclaimed.
On a bed of fresh ferns two large flat leaves were placed opposite each
other; these were to serve for plates; and on a very much larger leaf,
long and narrow, which is as it should be for a dish, the perch was
placed, garnished with a border of watercress. Another leaf, but very
small, served as a salt-cellar, also another holding the dessert.
Between each dish was a white anemone, its pure whiteness standing out
dazzlingly against the fresh verdure.
"If you will sit down...." said Perrine, extending her hand. And when
they had taken their seats opposite one another the dinner commenced.
"How sorry I should have been if I hadn't have come," said Rosalie,
speaking with her mouth full; "it is so pretty and so good."
"Why shouldn't you have come?"
"Because they wanted to send me to Picquigny for Mr. Bendit; he is ill."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He's got typhoid fever. He's very ill. Since yesterday he hasn't known
what he's been talking about, and he doesn't know anybody. And I had an
idea about you...."
"Me! What about me?"
"Something you can do...."
"If there is anything I can do for Mr. Bendit I'd be only too willing.
He was kind to me; but I'm only a poor girl; I don't understand."
"Give me a little more fish and some more watercress, and I'll explain,"
said Rosalie. "You know that Mr. Bendit has charge of the foreign
correspondence; he translates the English and German letters. Naturally, as
he is off his head now, he can't translate. They wanted to get somebody
else to replace him, but as this other man might take his place after he
is better (that is, if he does get better), M. Fabry and M. Mombleux have
taken charge of the work, so that he will be sure to have his job when he's
up again. But now M. Fabry has been sent away to Scotland and M. Mombleux
is in a fix, because, although he can read German all right, he's not much
on English. If the writing isn't very clear he can't make out the letters
at all. I heard him saying so at the table when I was waiting on them. So I
thought I'd tell him that you can speak English just as good as you can
French."
"I spoke French with my father, and English with my mother," said
Perrine, "and when we were all three talking together we spoke sometimes
one, sometimes the other, mixing two languages without paying
attention."
"I wasn't sure whether I should say anything about you or not, but now I
will, if you like."
"Why, yes; do, if you think a poor girl like me could be of any use to
them."
"'Tain't a question of being a poor girl or a young lady; it's a
question of knowing English," said Rosalie.
"I speak it, but to translate a business letter is another thing," said
Perrine, doubtfully.
"It'll be all right with M. Mombleux; he knows the business part."
"Well, then, tell him I shall be very pleased if I can do anything for
M. Bendit."
"I'll tell him."
The perch, although a large one, had all been eaten, and all the
watercress had disappeared. It was now time for the dessert. Perrine got
up and replaced the fish plates with smaller leaf plates in the shape of
a cup; she had picked the prettiest, with variegated shades, and marked
as exquisitely as enameled ware. Then she offered her guest the
gooseberries.
"Let me offer you some fruit from my own garden," she said, laughing, as
though she were playing at keeping doll's house.
"Where is your garden?"
"Over your head. There is a gooseberry bush growing in the branches of
this willow tree which holds up the cabin, so it seems."
"You know you won't be able to live in here much longer," said Rosalie.
"Until the winter, I think."
"Until winter! Why, the bird catchers will need this place pretty soon;
that I'm sure."
"Oh! ... Oh, dear ... Oh, dear!"
The day, which had begun so brightly for Perrine, ended sadly. That
night was certainly the worst Perrine had passed since she had been on
her little island.
Where should she go?
And all her utensils that she had taken such trouble to make; what
should she do with them?