He awoke bathed in perspiration
to hear the village clock strike four. The hour, the hour of his fate
had come. Even now Anton waited for him. He had no time to lose, his
dream had decided him. He would go back at any cost to his mother.
Softly he put down his hand and removed the precious little bit of
paper from the bosom of Cecile's frock, then, lifting her head
tenderly from his knees, he carried her, still sleeping, into the
hut, bade Toby watch by her, and flung himself into the silent gloom
of the forest.
CHAPTER XXI.
HARD TIMES FOR LITTLE MAURICE.
All that long and sunny day Maurice sat contentedly on a little
stool in the doorway of the traveling caravan. His foot, which had
been very painful, was now nicely and skillfully dressed. The
Frenchman, who did not know a word of English, had extracted a sharp
and cruel thorn, and the little boy, in his delight at being free
from pain, thanked him in the only way in his power. He gave him a
very sweet baby kiss.
It so happened that the Frenchman had a wife and a little lad
waiting for him in the Pyrenees. Maurice reminded him of his own
dark-eyed boy, and this sudden kiss won his heart. He determined to be
good to the child. So first providing him with an excellent bowl of
soup and a fresh roll, for his breakfast and dinner combined, he then
gave him a seat in the door of the caravan, for he judged that as he
could not amuse the little fellow by talking to him, he might by
letting him see what he could of what was going on outside.
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