A little maid of Picardy

by Amy Ella Blanchard

The sun went down leaving clouds of flaming red which turned to pallid gray. Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. Once or twice there was a distant roar of guns. Lucie wondered sorrowfully if it came from her town or some other. She began to feel very hungry, but concluded to wait for Paulette who should return at any moment. It grew darker and darker, but no Paulette.

“If I wait till it grows any darker,” decided Lucie, “I shall not be able to find the food.” She moved over to the basket, remembering that Paulette had supplied, for their noonday meal, bread, butter, cheese, roasted chicken. As Pom Pom heard her at the basket he pricked up his ears, then arose with a yawn and wagged his tail.

“You are hungry, too, poor Pom Pom,” said Lucie lifting the lid of the basket. “Ciel!” she exclaimed as she peered down into the contents of the basket, “it is not food at all which we have here. The basket which held that must have gone with grandfather in the wagon. What a misfortune! No doubt Paulette thought she handed up the one which holds the utensils. She was flurried and the two are exactly alike. I wish she would return so we could join those others and get the food. I have half a mind to go on. To be sure I could carry never these things, but perhaps they would be safe here and some one could return for them.”

It was a comfort to have the little dog to talk to, Lucie considered as she kept up a murmuring conversation. “It is very strange that she does not come, Pom Pom,” she said. “Surely it is not so far. One can see several lights quite plainly. Hark! there is another of those sharp reports; it is the third. They sound much nearer than those other rumbling growls. Figure to yourself, my Pom Pom, what it must be to live in the midst of the cannonading as my poor papa did. I wonder, oh, I wonder when I shall see him, my mother also. What would they say to behold my plight? Grandfather, of course, will let them know when we reach Paris. It seems very far away, that city of Paris. Why does not Paulette come, Pom Pom? It grows so very dark, she will not be able to find her way. If one had a lantern or a bit of candle, though perhaps it is better not, for as it is we are quite hidden as Paulette charged me to be.”

Pom Pom from time to time wagged his tail in response to the talk, but he had prowled around and had discovered a discarded bone which gave him some satisfaction and to which he gave his best attention, bare as it was. At last when Lucie had lapsed into a silence, and the darkness had settled down upon them, he drew very close and lay down with his head in the lap of his mistress, once in a while giving her hand a reassuring lick.

As the moments passed Lucie grew more and more concerned. She was of two minds about staying. Suppose she started off in the dark, she might lose her way and miss Paulette altogether. Paulette would be distracted at not finding her. Suppose she stayed. It was an appalling prospect to remain in that dreary place by herself. She who had never spent a night away from the safety of her own roof, to be utterly alone in a place whose very name was unknown to her, could not tell what terrors might befall her. She resolved that she would keep watch all night. Paulette might arrive at any moment. She propped herself up against a corner of the shed as best she could, her bundle behind her, Pom Pom at her feet. The stars were coming out. The frogs piped up again, then the crickets. Presently another sudden sound of explosion. “Paulette, Paulette, why don’t you come? It is so lonely here, so—dark—so dark.” Pom Pom stirred. Lucie put out her hand wanderingly to rest it on his head as he moved closer up by her side. Her head dropped till it rested on her bundle, then she was not conscious of anything more. Little maid and little dog slept the night through. Once only Pom Pom stirred, pricked up his ears, sat up and listened, then snuggled back with a sigh and went off again into a sound sleep.

Victor spread the doubled paper upon the spot. Lucie put out her little slim foot, stepped lightly and was over.

It was early, early in the morning when Lucie was aroused by a sudden squawk, a wild flutter of wings. She sat up and rubbed her eyes to behold a much ruffled hen disappearing out of the doorway and cackling her best. Dazed with sleep Lucie thought at first she must be dreaming, but the cackling fully aroused her. She looked around, bewildered. “Where in the world am I?” she exclaimed. Then the events of the day before came back to her. She stood up, shaking the straw from her dress. “Of all things!” she exclaimed, “I have spent the entire night in this dirty place, and have slept like a Christian. Who could believe it? Thank heaven there is no door, so one could at least have fresh air. Where is Paulette, and where indeed is Pom Pom?”

She went out into the field to look around. Dew lay on the grass. The poppy buds were unfolding. A lark sang soaring overhead. The hen, having concluded her triumphant remarks, was on the search for breakfast and was picking around quite as if all her friends and neighbors had not been carried off.