Phil did not overhear this conversation, but Tad happened to be at work close by, and heard every word.
"This is goin' to be my chance!" he said to himself. "For once in a way I'm in luck, but I'll not tell Phil or he'd spoil all the fun."
During the time that had gone by since first he meditated flight with the baby, Tad had contrived to scrape together a little money. Now and again, when in the town with Jacques, he had earned a sou or two, holding horses or carrying boxes and parcels from the wharf, or running errands, and the coppers he received Jacques allowed him to keep for himself. So that he had about a franc and twenty-five centimes, as nearly as possible one shilling of our money.
At dinner that day he asked for more bread, and hid a big hunch away in his pocket. This was all the preparation that he could make for his journey, and blindly, obstinately, set upon his own way he must indeed have been, to think of undertaking it so poorly equipped. But there is no limit to the foolhardiness of self-will, when once it has, like a runaway horse, got the bit between its teeth; and so was it now with poor Tad's besetting sin.
As evening approached, circumstances favoured the lad's design, for Phil was called by one of the men to accompany him to a neighbouring hamlet with baskets to sell, and Pelagie occupied herself with preparing supper contained in the usual big pot, into which she was shredding herbs of many kinds. For now the wild green plants were coming up with tender shoots, and none knew better than the gipsy woman which of them lent an appetising flavour to the soup.
"Here, Edouard," said she to Tad, who was loafing about and watching his chance. "Step into Marie's waggon, will you, and look at the child. If he seems restless or uneasy, take him up and rock him gently in your arms till he is quiet. You can stay with him, for I do not need your help here. Go then at once; I shall be more at ease if I know you are with him."
Tad, with an eagerness which he tried to hide, turned to obey. He entered the waggon where his little half-brother was fast asleep, and stood looking at him a moment by the light of a tiny lamp fixed into a brass socket on one of the walls of the cart.
The little fellow's cheeks were scarlet, and through the parted lips the breath came in a quick, irregular way which was not natural.
"Ought I to take him when he ain't quite well?" thought Tad; but once more his great desire conquered all conscientious scruples. "It's now or never," he muttered.
And having made up his mind, he looked all round for some warm wrap in which to enfold the little fellow. Presently he saw a large, dark cloak of Marie's hanging from a nail. This he reached down, lifted the baby very cautiously, and throwing the cloak over him, even covering the face, he stepped out of the cart, peering round suspiciously for fear someone might be watching.