A little maid of Picardy

by Amy Ella Blanchard

“Oh!” Lucie was startled. “What do you suppose will happen to him?”

“Who knows? With the Boches nearing Paris it is as much as one can do to keep faith and hope alive.”

“Oh, Paulette, will they really get here, do you think?”

“They have moved the government to Bordeaux.”

“How fearful! But the people will not let them in, will they?”

Paulette compressed her lips to a hard line. “Not till they have killed every poilu on the way. Do not distress yourself, my little one. They are not here yet. It is merely as a precaution that the government removes itself. Now I go. Do not leave the place nor let any one in the door.” And picking up her baskets she went out.

Lucie often went with Paulette to the little market and was never at a loss for entertainment there, whether it was listening to the arguments carried on between seller and buyer, in watching the people or in giving an ear to the gossip of Paulette and some other peasant-born woman. Pom Pom always went along, too, and generally managed to pick up some bit of meat, a luxury to him as well as to most. On the way home there was always a halt at a church in whose solemn and silent interior prayers were offered up for those about whom all were anxious.

The little dog was great company for Lucie, and since there was no Mousse to claim Paulette’s attention, she too bestowed her favor upon Pom Pom. Probably he enjoyed, as much as the other two, the almost daily visit to the park near by when both Lucie and Paulette would take their knitting and sit under the trees with numbers of others all knitting, knitting for the soldiers. The streets were very quiet these days. One saw few young men unless it be a wounded man in uniform, perhaps minus a leg or arm, or maybe blinded and guided by some other. At night it was very dark, scarce a light to be seen, and it was terrifying when more than once up from the street below would come the shrill alarm of the pompiers: garde à vous, and this meant that one must look out for the Zeppelins. Being at the top of the house there was more danger for Lucie, Paulette and their neighbors on that floor than for those below, and Paulette never failed to rout Lucie out of bed, gather up Pom Pom and flee to the lowest floor where lived Madame Mathilde, who was concierge, if so modest a house can be said to possess a concierge.

It was one day when Paulette had gone off to her work that Lucie was busy with her knitting, looking off between whiles at the bright clouds floating over the tops of buildings and lending a radiance to a spire here, a window there, when somehow the whole view made her think of an evening with her mother just before the sad breaking up came. “Always look up, dear daughter, and find a bit of sky,” her mother had said. “One’s soul is seldom absolutely shut in. Between branches and roofs one can generally find a shining piece of sky.” It all came back to the girl now, those happy home days, those quiet talks in the garden. She was very lonely, and liked the big city no better than Paulette did, who was always declaring that the only thing which kept her from returning, Germans or no Germans, was the fact that Mons. Du Bois might appear at any moment and be distressed at not finding his granddaughter.

Lucie came to the toe of the stocking upon which she was at work. This was the difficult place over which Paulette always helped her, so she laid it aside till Paulette should return. This was the signal for Pom Pom to arouse from his nap and to beg for a frolic. He jumped upon Lucie, wagging his tail, and giving little sharp barks.