A little maid of Picardy

by Amy Ella Blanchard

“But what a remarkable hen,” remarked Victor, “to lay two eggs in a day.”

Lucie went off again into another burst of laughter. “But, no,” she cried, “it was not the same hen. That other was brown; this is speckled. There are then two of them.”

“Ma foi!” cried Victor, “one does not have to go far for a joke even in these days.”

He returned to the shed, climbed up to the shelf, and presently reappeared with his pockets bulging. “My first foraging expedition,” he announced, “and here are the fruits, a half dozen eggs. We will commandeer these, a reserve for future use. We may be glad enough of them on our way. As for those hens they will have to fend for themselves, for there is no time to hunt them.” He deposited the eggs in one of the baskets, they climbed back again into the cart, undertook the task of persuading Long Ears to leave his pastures new, and finally they were on their way back to the town, arriving without mishap; then, with the consent of such authority as still existed, they set forth on the more precarious expedition to the next station.

Victor realized that time was short and it would be a close shave for him, for he must get back to camp at the proper hour. He had promised to return the borrowed cart and donkey, but in doing this, he resolved that he must let the future take care of itself. If he could not return the borrowed articles in person, some one else could, and that was all there was to it.

They began the second stage of their journey quite confidently. Life again appeared worth living. Lucie sat by Victor’s side on the length of board which served as a seat. Paulette, perched on a similar board, was surrounded by baskets and bundles. She held firmly to her green cotton umbrella from which she had not parted in all this time. Sometimes she used it as a staff, sometimes it was laid across her shoulders on the top of a pack she carried, again it found a place on the top of a basket, but wherever it was Paulette evidently did not mean to lose sight of it. Having renewed his strength the donkey trotted along bravely enough, but the cart was less satisfactory. The wheels spread apart in a manner that threatened collapse at any moment, while the added fourth caused a queer joggle, a sort of limp, as it were.

“It may not be the most luxurious way of riding,” observed Victor, “but if we get there it will suffice.”

“Oh, Victor, do you think there is any danger of our not getting there?” inquired Lucie in alarm.

Victor glanced down at the wavering wheel. “It will be good luck if we do,” he replied, then seeing Lucie’s look of dismay he added: “but the donkey is very strong; we can pile the luggage on him, then you and Paulette can take turns in riding whatever portion of the road we still have to travel.”

There was some comfort in this, and perhaps it was as well that Lucie was warned, for at last after a threatening squeak, and a more than ordinarily violent wabble, off came the wheel and went careering down a gully at the side of the road. The cart gave a lurch, but Victor was quick to spring out, and ran to the head of Long Ears who seemed to have it in his mind either to bolt or to kick out with his hind legs. He decided upon a mild performance of the latter feat, but his heels could do little damage to the already decrepit cart, and under Victor’s management he soon calmed down and stood meekly while he was being unharnessed.