She leaned way over and peered up at the low roof and then down at the eave’s trough. It curved down and ran straight across the side of the mill, just below them. There was not a moment to lose, for the woman would be coming back soon for the tray.
“We can try. But Flambeau! We can’t leave him. Could he, do you think—would he follow us?”
Jean nodded. “I believe he would, and there’s no other way. Yes, I know he would, for he’s always followed us everywhere. I’ll go first, then you, and you’ll see that he’ll come. He can balance well. And oh, yes, don’t you remember the time he walked the ledge of the summer house when we were playing ship?” Jean whispered eagerly but softly.
Marie Josephine nodded. “You go and I’ll follow,” she whispered back.
Jean turned toward the table. “The bread, Jo! You said you had money for food, and we need the bread.”
Marie Josephine felt in her pocket and drew out a bag. In it were some coins and she put one on the table. Then she handed the loaf to Jean and he put it inside his blouse, buttoning his jacket over it. He jumped up on the sill and, turning carefully, reached up and caught the overhanging ledge of the roof. Then he cautiously put one foot along the ledge, drawing the other up to it, and in that way made slow but sure progress toward the welcoming branches of the tree.
Marie Josephine listened carefully, her eyes on Jean. When Jean was safe she turned and put her hand on Flambeau’s head.
“You’re to follow, Flambeau, and you’re not to be afraid. You must follow,” she whispered. Then she jumped up on to the window sill, turned, and grasped the ledge of the roof as Jean had done. She heard the swish of the tree as he caught the branches, but she dared not look around. She did not dare to think of the woman Paulette, and she tried, for the moment, not to think of Flambeau, but that was not so easy, for there was an appealing squeal from the window sill. Then horrors! A sharp bark!
Marie Josephine called softly, “Flambeau, come!” She held on to the ledge and looked back, and, to her joy, saw the dog put his slender feet on to the trough and gingerly step forward. “Come, Flambeau, good doggie, pet, come!” she called again softly. Then she turned, caught at the branches, held them with every bit of strength in her body, swayed with them, dipping down through their leafy sweetness, loosening her hold the instant her feet touched the ground. She swayed and staggered, half fell over, but was up in an instant, and with Jean looked upward at Flambeau. He had reached the edge of the trough, and was looking down. Soon they saw that he had spied what they had not seen, a broad, thick branch some four feet below the trough. He leaped down, scrambled among the smaller branches for a moment, then jumped safely to the ground and ran with bounds after the two friends who seemed to scarcely touch their feet to the earth as they sped down the road, away from the forest, the old mill-inn, and the dark woman, Paulette!
They often wondered afterward how they had ever run so fast after their night of travel. Fear seemed to race behind them, and they were sure they heard the woman running and calling, but they never looked back to see. At last they could not run any longer. They came to a crossroad and sat down near the edge of the road, panting and exhausted. There was no one in sight and they rested for some little time before they could talk at all. Then Jean said, “There must be quicksilver in your feet, Jo,” and they both laughed.