f a stab from a
dagger. One who can give a jab as well as take one."

"There is only my mother and me, and mother is ill."

"Do you think much of that donkey?" he asked quickly.

"I should say so!"

"Well, the first thing he'll be stolen. He'll be gone tomorrow. Then
the rest'll come after, and it's Fatty as tells yer so."

"Really?"

"Should say so! You've never been to Paris before?"

"No, never."

"That's easy to see. Some fools told you where to put your cart up, but
you can't put it there. Why don't you go to Grain-of-Salt?"

"I don't know Grain-of-Salt."

"Why, he owns the Guillot Fields. You needn't be afraid of him, and he'd
shoot anybody who tried to get in his place."

"Will it cost much to go there?"

"It costs a lot in winter, when everybody comes to Paris, but at this
time I'm sure he won't make you pay more than forty sous a week. And
your donkey can find its food in the field. Does he like thistles?"

"I should say he does like them!"

"Well, then, this is just the place for him, and Grain-of-Salt isn't a
bad chap," said the little clown with a satisfied air.

"Is that his name ... Grain-of-Salt?"

"They call him that 'cause he's always thirsty. He's only got one arm."

"Is his place far from here?"

"No, at Charonne; but I bet yer don't even know where Charonne is?"

"I've never been to Paris before."

"Well, then, it's over there." He waved his arms vaguely in a northerly
direction.

"Once you have passed through the Gates, you turn straight to the
right," he explained, "and you follow the road all along the
fortifications for half an hour, then go down a wide avenue, then turn
to your left, and then ask where the Guillot Field is. Everybody knows
it."

"Thank you. I'll go and tell mama. If you'll stand beside Palikare for a
minute, I'll go and tell her at once."

"Sure, I'll mind him for yer. I'll ask him to teach me Greek."

"And please don't let him eat that straw."

Perrine went inside the caravan and told her mother what the little
clown had said.

"If that is so," said the sick woman, "we must not hesitate; we must go
to Charonne. But can you find the way?"

"Yes, it's easy enough. Oh, mother," she added, as she was going out,
"there are such a lot of wagons outside; they have printed on them
'Maraucourt Factories,' and beneath that the name, 'Vulfran
Paindavoine.' There are all kinds of barrels and things in the carts.
Such a number!"

"There is nothing remar