A WANDERER IN FRANCE.
A boy toiled painfully over a country road but a few miles from
the city of Lyons. His clothes bore the marks of the dusty road
over which he was travelling. It was clear by his appearance that
he was not a French boy. There is no need of keeping up a mystery
which my young readers will easily penetrate. This boy was our
hero, Ben Baker. He was now more than half way to Paris, and might
have reached that gay city days since but for his limited supply of
money. When he gave Francois a hundred francs he nearly exhausted
his limited capital, but there was no help for it.
He had travelled a hundred miles on the railway, far enough to be
beyond the danger of pursuit and the risk of a return to the asylum,
which he could not think of without a shudder. Now he would walk,
and so economize. He had walked another hundred miles, and had
reached this point in his journey. But his scanty funds were now
reduced to a piece of two sous, and he was between three and four
thousand miles from home. This very day he had walked fifteen miles,
and all he had eaten was a roll, which he had purchased in a baker's
shop in a country village through which he had passed in the early
morning.
Hopeful as Ben was by temperament, he looked sober enough as he
contemplated his position. How was he ever to return home, and what
prospect was there for him in Europe? If he had been in any part of
America he would have managed to find something to do, but here he
felt quite helpless.
He had walked fifteen miles on an almost empty stomach, and the
result was that he was not only tired but sleepy. He sat down by the
way-side, with his back against the trunk of a tree, and before he
was conscious of it he had fallen asleep.
How long he had been asleep he did not know, but he was roused
suddenly by a touch. Opening his eyes, he saw a man fumbling at his
watch-chain. The man, who was a stout and unprepossessing-looking
man of about thirty-five, wearing a blouse, jumped back with a
hasty, confused exclamation.
"What are you doing?" demanded Ben, suspiciously.
He spoke first in English, but, remembering himself, repeated the
question in French.
"Pardon, monsieur," said the man, looking uncomfortable.
Ben's glance fell on his chain and the watch, which had slipped from
his pocket, and he understood that the man had been trying to steal
his watch. In spite of his poverty and need of money he had not yet
parted with the watch, though he suspected the time would soon come
when he should be compelled to do so.
"You were trying to steal my watch," said Ben, severely.
"No, monsieur, you are wrong," answered the tramp, for that was
what he would be called in America.
"How came my watch out of the pocket, and why were you leaning over
me?" continued Ben.
"I wanted to see what time it was," answered the man, after a
minute's hesitation.
"I think it is fortunate I awoke when I did," said Ben.
His new acquaintance did not choose to notice the significance of
the words.
"Monsieur," he said, "I am a poor man. Will you help me with a few
sous?"
Ben could not help laughing. It seemed too ridiculous that any one
should ask money of him. He took the two-sous piece from his pocket.
"Do you see that?" he asked.
"Yes, monsieur."
"It is all the money I have."
The man looked incredulous.
"And yet monsieur is well dressed, and has a gold watch."
"Still I am as poor as you, for I am more than three thousand miles
from home, and have not money enough to get there, even if I sell my
watch."
"Where does monsieur live?" asked the tramp, looking interested.
"In America."
"Will monsieur take my advice?"
"If it is good."
"There is a rich American gentleman at the Hotel de la Couronne, in
Lyons. He would, perhaps, help monsieur."
The idea struck Ben favorably. This gentleman could, at any rate,
give him advice, and he felt that he needed it.
"How far is Lyons away?"
"Scarcely a league."
"Straight ahead?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then I will go there."
"And I, too. I will guide monsieur."
"Thank you. I will reward you, if I have the means."