"Good," he said; "I'll drink it for you."
He drained another glass, then returned to his collection of rags.
As soon as she had installed Palikare in the place that the man had pointed out to her, which was accomplished not without some jolts, despite the care which she took, Perrine climbed up into the wagon.
"We've arrived at last, poor mama," she said, bending over the woman.
"No more shaking, no more rolling about," said the woman weakly.
"There, there; I'll make you some dinner," said Perrine cheerfully. "What would you like?"
"First, dear, unharness Palikare; he is very tired also; and give him something to eat and drink."
Perrine did as her mother told her, then returned to the wagon and took out the small stove, some pieces of coal and an old saucepan and some sticks. Outside, she went down on her knees and made a fire; at last, after blowing with all her might, she had the satisfaction of seeing that it had taken.
"You'd like some rice, wouldn't you?" she asked, leaning over her mother.
"I am not hungry."