l
held its head high. The harness, worthy of the caravan, was fastened
together with various colored strings, short pieces, long pieces, just
what was at hand at the moment; the strings had been carefully hidden
under the flowers and branches which had been gathered along the roads
and used to protect the animal from the sun and the flies.

Close by, seated on the edge of the curb, watching the donkey, was a
little girl of about thirteen years of age. Her type was very unusual,
but it was quite apparent that there was a mixture of race. The pale
blond of her hair contrasted strangely with the deep, rich coloring of
her cheeks, and the sweet expression of her face was accentuated by the
dark, serious eyes. Her mouth also was very serious. Her figure, slim
and full of grace, was garbed in an old, faded check dress, but the
shabby old frock could not take away the child's distinguished air.

As the donkey had stopped just behind a large cart of straw, it would
not have required much watching, but every now and again he pulled out
the straw, in a cautious manner, like a very intelligent animal that
knows quite well that it is doing wrong.

"Palikare! stop that!" said the girl for the third time.

The donkey again dropped his head in a guilty fashion, but as soon as he
had eaten his wisps of straw he began to blink his eyes and agitate his
ears, then again discreetly, but eagerly, tugged at what was ahead of
him; this in a manner that testified to the poor beast's hunger.

While the little girl was scolding him, a voice from within the caravan
called out:

"Perrine!"

Jumping to her feet, the child lifted up the canvas and passed inside,
where a pale, thin woman was lying on a mattress.

"Do you need me, mama?"

"What is Palikare doing, dear?" asked the woman.

"He is eating the straw off the cart that's ahead of us."

"You must stop him."

"He's so hungry."

"Hunger is not an excuse for taking what does not belong to us. What will
you say to the driver of that cart if he's angry?"

"I'll go and see that Palikare doesn't do it again," said the little girl.

"Shall we soon be in Paris?"

"Yes, we are waiting for the customs."

"Have we much longer to wait?"

"No, but are you in more pain, mother?"

"Don't worry, darling; it's because I'm closed in here," replied the woman,
gasping. Then she smiled wanly, hoping to reassure her daughter.

The woman was in a pitiable plight. All her strength had gone an