CHAPTER XIII

UNEXPECTED NEWS

THE plentiful meal and long sleep obtained through Claudine's hospitality and kindness, had done the lads good service. And when they recovered from their excitement and first dread of pursuit, and found themselves clear of the neighbourhood of the house, they felt strong enough to push on at a fair pace. The darkness was coming so rapidly, that the boys thought they might with perfect safety keep to the road. Along the road accordingly they trudged, looking carefully about them, however, and ready to hide under a hedge or crouch in a ditch, or dodge behind a tree at the wayside, at the least sound or threatening of danger.

It was about eight o'clock, and they were beginning to think of making a halt for a rest of half an hour or so, when a slow, heavy rumbling of wheels along the highway made them look round.

"Why, Phil," said Tad, "it's some of them travellin' carts the tramps and gipsies use, ain't it?"

"Looks like 'em," replied Phil. "I wonder if the people would give us a lift just to the next town or wherever it is they're goin'!"

"Let's ask 'em," said Tad. "See, there's the first cart quite near."

"Shall we go and speak to that man walkin' at the horse's head?" asked Phil.

"You go, Phil. You speak their lingo best," rejoined Tad.

Phil accordingly left his companion's side, and stepping into the middle of the road, bade the man a very courteous good evening, adding:

"My friend and I are very weary, monsieur, having come far. Would you have the goodness to suffer us to ride in one of your carts for a little way?"

"Certainly, my child, with pleasure," replied the old fellow kindly. "Get in here. My wife Sophie and a friend of hers are inside, but there is still plenty of room. The carts coming behind are for the most part full of children and the things we are taking to sell at a fair."

So saying, the old man stopped the horse, and the lads clambered into the cart, where they were kindly received by the two women, who were busily employed weaving rush baskets by the light of a little oil lamp.

"Sit down there, my children," said Sophie, pointing to a sort of bench which extended the whole length of the cart, like the seat of an omnibus.

"Maybe the boys are hungry," suggested the other woman, "and we cannot get supper till we find a good place for camping out."

"Give them some bread to stay their hunger till then, Pelagie," answered Sophie.

And presently the lads were each munching away at a substantial hunch of bread sprinkled with salt.

On jolted the cart, followed by three others, but it was ten o'clock that night before the caravan came to a place suitable for an encampment. Tad and Phil, grateful for the kindness shown them, and delighted to make themselves useful, helped to unharness the horses, and tether them to stakes which they drove into the ground. They brought water from a little stream, and gathered together, from under the trees by the roadside, a quantity of dead wood for a fire.

The spot that had been chosen for camping out, was a tract of waste land between two hills of limestone rock. The place was strewn with stones, but was quite dry, and the fire blazed up merrily, shedding a welcome warmth, for the night was cold.

Over this fire, as soon as it burned clear and hot, the huge soup-pot was hung. Into it had been put a big lump of the prepared spiced and salted lard (a mixture of beef and hog's fat clarified and cured) of which the Norman peasantry make their usual soup.

Then as the grease melted in the pot, vegetables of several sorts were added, but chiefly potatoes, onions, and winter cabbage, with all the stale crusts and odds and ends of food remaining over from the day's rations. The pot was then filled up with water, a handful of salt mixed with peppercorns being thrown in. And soon this wonderful mixture was simmering musically over the fire, emitting a very savoury odour.

While waiting for supper to be ready, some of the grown-up people belonging to the caravan drew to the fire, and sat down on the short, dry stubble.

The children were already asleep in the waggons. A few of the women took out their knitting and worked their long needles rapidly, the bright steel gleaming in the fitful flare of the firelight. The men fed their horses, for there was not grass enough for their food, and went round looking for more wood to feed the fire, or sat in the circle, shaping garden sticks and broom-handles to sell at the fair.

As for Tad and Phil, when there seemed to be nothing further for them to do, they came and joined the cosy party round the fire, seating themselves between kind old Sophie and Pelagie.

At first there was a great deal of jabbering going on, but nothing to arrest the attention of the lads.

But suddenly Phil caught Tad's arm, and whispered, "Listen, Tad! What's the woman saying?"

Tad listened accordingly, and having learned enough now of the Normandy patois French to understand what was said, when he paid close attention, he at once became interested. For a woman of the party had said to old Sophie:

"I forgot to ask thee, Sophie, did a letter reach thee from Angleterre, from thy daughter, as we passed through the town?"

"Yes, Dieu merci, it did, and it was a letter that made my old heart glad."

"And how so, Sophie, if one may ask?"

"Ay, tell us!" cried another voice. "Thou knowest well, good mother, that all that interests thee has interest also for us."

"After the last letter that came, I told you, did I not, my friends," said the old woman, "how unhappy my poor child was?"

"Yes, but not wherefore she was so vexed in spirit," replied Bernadine, a big woman with a baby in her arms. "Was that English gipsy husband of hers unkind to her?"

"No, no, Bernadine; from the time that Jake the gipsy saw and loved my Marie when she was in service over there, he has been as kind as any husband could be, and for love of him she is more than half English already; but—"

"Ay, good mother, tell us! What?"

But what the good mother had to tell we must leave to the next chapter.