oney in their pockets.

What would become of them? And the terrible thing was that she must take
the responsibility. Her mother was too ill now to think or plan, and
Perrine, although only a child, realized that she must now be the
mother.

On Tuesday morning her fears were realized. After a brief examination,
the doctor took from his pocket that terrible notebook that Perrine
dreaded to see and began to write. She had the courage to stop him.

"Doctor, if the medicines which you are ordering are not all of the same
importance," she said, "will you please write out those which are needed
the most?"

"What do you mean?" he asked angrily.

She trembled but continued bravely:

"I mean that we have not much money today, and we shall not get any
perhaps until tomorrow ... so...."

He looked at her, then glanced round the room, as though for the first
time remarking their poverty; then he put his notebook back in his
pocket.

"We won't change the treatment until tomorrow, then," he said. "There is
no hurry for this. Continue the same today."

"No hurry!" Perrine repeated the words to herself. There was no hurry
then ... her mother was not so ill as she had feared; they had just to
wait and hope....

Wednesday was the day for which she was waiting, yet at the same time
how she dreaded it. Dear, dear Palikare.... Whenever her mother did not
need her she would run out into the field and kiss his nose and talk to
him, and as he had no work to do, and all the thistles to eat that he
wanted and his little mistress' love, he was the happiest donkey in the
world.

"Ah, if you only knew," murmured Perrine, as she caressed him.

But he did not know. All he knew was that she loved him and that the
thistles were good. So, as she kissed and kissed, he brayed in
contentment and shook his long ears as he looked at her from the corner
of his eyes.

Besides, he had made friends with Grain-of-Salt and had received a proof
of his friendship in a way that flattered his greed. On Monday, having
broken loose, he had trotted up to Grain-of-Salt, who was occupied in
sorting out the rags and bones that had just arrived, and he stood
beside him. The man was about to pour out a drink from the bottle that
was always beside him when he saw Palikare, his eyes fixed on him, his
neck stretched out.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. As the words were not said in
anger, the donkey knew, and he did not move.

"Want a drink ... a glass