Nobody's Girl Part 6

After a great deal of bargaining all she could get was two francs fifty on the price he had offered, and the promise that he would not take it until after they had gone, so that they could stay in it all day, which she thought would be much better for her mother than closed up in the house.

After she had looked at the room that Grain-of-Salt was willing to rent, she realized how much the wagon meant to them, for in spite of the pride in which he spoke of his "Apartments," and the contempt in which he spoke of the wagon, Perrine was heartbroken at the thought that she must bring her dear mother to this dirty smelling house.

As she hesitated, wondering if her mother would not be poisoned from the odor which came from the heaps of things outside, Grain-of-Salt said impatiently:

"Hurry up! The rag pickers will be here in a moment and I'll have to get busy."

"Does the doctor know what these rooms are like?" she asked.

"Sure! He came to this one lots of times to see the Baroness."

That decided her. If the doctor had seen the rooms he knew what he was doing in advising them to take one, and then if a Baroness lived in one, her mother could very well live in the other.

"You'll have to pay one week in advance," said the landlord, "and three sous for the donkey and six for the wagon."

"But you've bought the wagon," she said in surprise.

"Yes, but as you're using it, it's only fair that you should pay."

She had no reply to make to this. It was not the first time that she had been cheated. It had happened so often on their long journey.

"Very well," said the poor little girl.

She employed the greater part of the day in cleaning their room, was.h.i.+ng the floor, wiping down the walls, the ceiling, the windows. Such a scrubbing had never been seen in that house since the place had been built!

During the numerous trips that she made from the house to the pump she saw that not only did gra.s.s and thistles grow in the Field, but there were flowers. Evidently some neighbors had thrown some plants over the fence and the seeds had sprung up here and there. Scattered about she saw a few roots of wall-flowers, pinks and even some violets!

What a lovely idea! She would pick some and put them in their room. They would drive away the bad odor, and at the same time make the place look gay.

It seemed that the flowers belonged to no one, for Palikare was allowed to eat them if he wished, yet she was afraid to pick the tiniest one without first asking Grain-of-Salt.

"Do you want to sell them?" he asked.

"No, just to put a few in our room," she replied.

"Oh, if that's it you may take as many as you like, but if you are going to sell them, I might do that myself. As it's for your room, help yourself, little one. You like the smell of flowers. I like the smell of wine. That's the only thing I can smell."

She picked the flowers, and searching amongst the heap of broken gla.s.s she found an old vase and some tumblers.

The miserable room was soon filled with the sweet perfume of wall-flowers, pinks and violets, which kept out the bad odors of the rest of the house, and at the same time the fresh, bright colors lent a beauty to the dark walls.

While working, she had made the acquaintance of her neighbors. On one side of their room lived an old woman whose gray head was adorned with a bonnet decorated with the tri-color ribbon of the French flag. On the other side lived a big man, almost bent double. He wore a leather ap.r.o.n, so long and so large that it seemed to be his only garment. The woman with the tri-color ribbons was a street singer, so the big man told her, and no less a person than the Baroness of whom Grain-of-Salt had spoken.

Every day she left the Guillot Field with a great red umbrella and a big stick which she stuck in the ground at the crossroads or at the end of a bridge. She would shelter herself from the sun or the rain under her red umbrella and sing, and then sell to the pa.s.sersby copies of the songs she sang.

As to the big man with the ap.r.o.n, he was a cobbler, so she learned from the Baroness, and he worked from morning to night. He was always silent, like a fish, and for this reason everybody called him Father Carp. But although he did little talking he made enough noise with his hammer.

At sunset Perrine's room was ready. Her mother, as she was helped in, looked at the flowers with surprise and pleasure.

"How good you are to your mama, darling," she murmured as she clung to Perrine's arm.

"How good I am to myself," Perrine cried gayly, "because if I do anything that pleases you, I am so happy."

At night they had to put the flowers outside. Then the odors of the old house rose up terribly strong, but the sick woman did not dare complain.

What would be the use, for she could not leave the Guillot Field to go elsewhere?

Her sleep was restless, and when the doctor came the next morning he found her worse, which made him change the treatment, and Perrine was obliged to go again to the druggist. This time he asked five francs to fill out the prescription. She did not flinch, but paid bravely, although she could scarcely breathe when she got outside the store. If the expenses continued to increase at this rate poor Palikare would have to be sold on Wednesday. He would have to go now anyway. And if the doctor prescribed something else the next day, costing five francs or more, where would she find the money?

When, with her mother and father, she had tramped over the mountains, they had often been hungry, and more than once since they had left Greece on their way to France they had been without food. But hunger in the mountains and in the country was another thing--there was always the chance that they would find some wild fruit or vegetables. But in Paris there was no hope for those who had no money in their pockets.

What would become of them? And the terrible thing was that she must take the responsibility. Her mother was too ill now to think or plan, and Perrine, although only a child, realized that she must now be the mother.

On Tuesday morning her fears were realized. After a brief examination, the doctor took from his pocket that terrible notebook that Perrine dreaded to see and began to write. She had the courage to stop him.

"Doctor, if the medicines which you are ordering are not all of the same importance," she said, "will you please write out those which are needed the most?"

"What do you mean?" he asked angrily.

She trembled but continued bravely:

"I mean that we have not much money today, and we shall not get any perhaps until tomorrow ... so...."

He looked at her, then glanced round the room, as though for the first time remarking their poverty; then he put his notebook back in his pocket.

"We won't change the treatment until tomorrow, then," he said. "There is no hurry for this. Continue the same today."

"No hurry!" Perrine repeated the words to herself. There was no hurry then ... her mother was not so ill as she had feared; they had just to wait and hope....

Wednesday was the day for which she was waiting, yet at the same time how she dreaded it. Dear, dear Palikare.... Whenever her mother did not need her she would run out into the field and kiss his nose and talk to him, and as he had no work to do, and all the thistles to eat that he wanted and his little mistress' love, he was the happiest donkey in the world.

"Ah, if you only knew," murmured Perrine, as she caressed him.

But he did not know. All he knew was that she loved him and that the thistles were good. So, as she kissed and kissed, he brayed in contentment and shook his long ears as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

Besides, he had made friends with Grain-of-Salt and had received a proof of his friends.h.i.+p in a way that flattered his greed. On Monday, having broken loose, he had trotted up to Grain-of-Salt, who was occupied in sorting out the rags and bones that had just arrived, and he stood beside him. The man was about to pour out a drink from the bottle that was always beside him when he saw Palikare, his eyes fixed on him, his neck stretched out.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. As the words were not said in anger, the donkey knew, and he did not move.

"Want a drink ... a gla.s.s of wine?" he asked mockingly. The gla.s.s that he was about to put to his lips he offered in a joke to the donkey.

Palikare, taking the offer seriously, came a step nearer and pus.h.i.+ng out his lips to make them as thin and as long as possible, drank a good half of the gla.s.s which had been filled to the brim.

"_Oh la la! la la!_" cried Grain-of-Salt, bursting with laughter.

"Baroness! Carp! Come here!"

At his calls, the Baroness and Carp, also a rag picker who came into the field at that moment and a man with a push-cart who sold red and yellow and blue sugar sticks, ran up.

"What's the matter?" demanded the Baroness.

He filled the gla.s.s again and held it out to the donkey, who, as before, absorbed half of the contents amidst the laughter and shouts of those who looked on.