Two Little Waifs Part 19

"Avenue Gerard, No. 9," read the man. "Yes, it is quite right--it is here. But there is no name. Who is it you want?"

"The English ladies," replied Gladys in her own tongue, which she still seemed to think everybody should understand. She had gathered the meaning of the man's words, helped thereto by his gesticulations.

"The English ladies--I don't know their name."

Only one word was comprehensible by the porter.

"English," he repeated, using of course the French word for "English."

"It must be the English ladies on the second floor they want. No doubt they are some of the poor English those ladies are so kind to. And yet--" he looked at them dubiously. They didn't quite suit his description. Anyway, there was but one answer to give. "The ladies were out; the children must come again another day."

Gladys and Roger, too, understood the first four words. Their worst fears had come true!

If Gladys could have spoken French she would perhaps have found courage to ask the man to let them come in and wait a little; for as, speechless, still holding poor Roger by the hand, she slowly moved to go, she caught sight of a cheerful little room where a bright fire was burning, the gla.s.s door standing half open, and towards which the porter turned.

"That must be his house," thought Gladys in a sort of half-stupid dreamy way. It was no use trying to ask him to let them go in and wait there.

There was nowhere for them--he seemed to think they were beggars, and would perhaps call the police if they didn't go away at once. So she drew Roger out into the street again, out of the shelter of the court, where the wind felt rather less piercing, and, without speaking, wandered a few steps down the street they had two minutes ago toiled along so hopefully.

"Where are you going, Gladdie? What are you going to do? I knew they'd be out," said Roger, breaking into one of his piteous fits of crying.

Gladys's heart seemed as if it was going to stop. What _was_ she going to do?

Wait in the street a little, she had said to Roger. But how could they?

The wind seemed to be getting colder and colder; the daylight even was beginning to fade a little; they were not only cold, they were desperately hungry, for they had had nothing to eat except the little bowl of milk and crust of bread--that was all Francoise had been able to give them early that morning. She had been out at the market when the children ran away from Anna in one of her terrible tempers, so Gladys had not even been able to ask her for a few sous with which to get something to eat. Indeed, had Francoise been there, I daresay they would have been persuaded by her to wait till Adolphe came home, for he was expected that evening, though they did not know it!

"Roger, _darling_, try not to cry so," said Gladys, at last finding her voice. "Wait a moment and I'll try to think. If only there was a shop near, perhaps they'd let us go in; but there are no shops in this street."

No shops and very few pa.s.sers-by, at this time of day anyway. A step sounded along the pavement just as Gladys had drawn Roger back to the wall of the house they were pa.s.sing, meaning to wipe his eyes and turn up the collar of his coat to keep the wind from his throat. Gladys looked up in hopes that possibly, in some wonderful way, the new-comer might prove a friend in need. But no--it was only a man in a sort of uniform, and with a black bag strapped in front. Gladys had seen one like him at the Rue Verte; it was only the postman. He glanced at them as he pa.s.sed; he was a kind-hearted little man, and would have been quite capable of taking the two forlorn "bebes" home to his good wife to be clothed and fed--for there are many kind Samaritans even in careless, selfish big towns like Paris--but how were they to guess that, or how was he to know their trouble? So he pa.s.sed on; but a house or two farther on he stopped again, being accosted by a gentleman coming quickly up the street in the other direction, just as he was turning in to the courtyard of No. 9.

"There is only a paper for you, sir," he said to the young man, whom he evidently knew, in answer to his inquiry. "Will you take it?"

"Certainly," was the reply; and both, after a civil good-evening, were going on their way when a sound made them stop. It was Roger--all Gladys's efforts had been useless, and his temper as well as his courage giving way he burst into a loud roar. He was too worn out to have kept it up for long at such a pitch, but while it lasted it was very effective, for both the gentleman and the postman turned back.

"I noticed these children a moment ago," said the latter. "I wondered if they had lost their way, but I dared not wait."

"I'll see what it is," said the young man good-naturedly. But the postman lingered a moment.

"What's the matter?" asked the young man in French. "What's the little boy crying for?" he went on, turning to Gladys.

But her answer astonished him not a little. She stared blankly up in his face without speaking for a moment. Then with a sort of stifled scream she rushed forward and caught his hands.

"Oh you're the nice gentleman we met--you are--_don't_ say you're not.

You're the English gentleman, aren't you? Oh, will you take care of us--we're all alone--we've run away."

Walter kept her poor little hands in his, but for half a moment he did not speak. I think there were tears in his eyes. He had so often thought of the little pair he had met on the Boulevards, that somehow he did not seem to feel surprised at this strange meeting.

"My little girl," he said kindly, "who are you? Where have you run away from? Not from your home? I remember meeting you; but you must tell me more--you must tell me everything before I can help you or take you where you want to go."

"No. 9 Avenue Gerard; that's where we were going," replied Gladys confusedly. "But they're out--the ladies are out."

"And we have to wait in the stre-eet," sobbed Roger.

Walter started.

"9 Avenue Gerard," he said; "how can that be? Whom do you know there?"

"Some ladies who'll be kind to us, and know what we say, for they're English. I don't know their name," answered Gladys.

Walter saw there was but one thing to be done. He turned to the postman.

"I know who they are," he said rapidly in French, with the instinctive wish to save this little lady, small as she was, from being made the subject of a sensational paragraph in some penny paper. "I have seen them before. They had come to see my aunt, who is very kind to her country-people, and were crying because she was out. It will be all right. Don't let yourself be late. I'll look after them."

And relieved in his mind the postman trotted off.

Walter turned to Gladys again.

"_I_ live at No. 9," he said. "Those ladies are my aunt and my sister.

So the best thing you can do is to come in with me and get warm. And when my aunt comes home you shall tell us all your troubles, and we will see what to do."

"And you won't give us to the police?" asked Gladys, with a sudden misgiving. "We've _not_ done anything naughty. Will the ladies come soon?"

For though on the first impulse she had flown to Walter with full confidence, she now somehow felt a little frightened of him. Perhaps his being on such good terms with the postman, whose uniform vaguely recalled a policeman to her excited imagination, or his speaking French so easily and quickly, had made her feel rather less sure of him. "_You_ won't give us to the police?" she repeated.

Walter could hardly help smiling.

"Of _course_ not," he answered. "Come now, you must trust me and not be afraid. Give me your hand, my little man; or stay, he's very tired, I'll carry him in."

And he lifted Roger in his arms, while Gladys, greatly to her satisfaction, walked quietly beside them, her confidence completely restored.

"He's very polite, and he sees I'm _big_," she said to herself as she followed him into the court, past the porter's bright little room, from whence that person put out his head to wish Walter a respectful "good-evening," keeping to himself the reflection which explains so many mysteries to our friends across the water, that "the English are really very eccentric. One never knows what they will be doing next."

CHAPTER XI.

WALTER'S TEA-PARTY.

"They felt very happy and content and went indoors and sat to the table and had their dinner."--_The Almond Tree._

BROTHERS GRIMM.

Rosamond and her aunt had a good many commissions to do that afternoon.

They had not long before this changed their house, and there were still a great many pretty things to choose and to buy for the new rooms. But though it was pleasant work it was tiring, and it was, too, so exceedingly cold that even in the comfortable carriage with its hot-water bottles and fur rugs, the young girl s.h.i.+vered and said to her aunt she would be glad to be at home again, and to get a nice hot cup of tea.

"Yes," said her aunt, "and it is getting late. At this time of year the days seem to close in so suddenly."

"I'm afraid it is going to be a severe winter. I do so dislike severe winters, Auntie," said Rosamond, who had spent some part of her life in a warm climate.