," he decided. I got in, resolving to take
possession before breaking all the news to him.

"First I must stop at the _Grand Bazaar_ to call for a box," I said in
a most matter-of-fact way.

"Ah ca! non! It can't be done!" he exclaimed in a fury. "How do you
expect me to earn my living if I have to go out of my way and wait a
century outside a store?"

"I will pay you for your time."

Still he refused to move. "Descendez, descendez!" he cried in an ugly
voice. I knew the next one would be just as bad, and besides I had no
time to lose. The hour of the train was approaching. Basely I resorted
to bribery: "Look here, Monsieur, I am American and I will pay you well.
Did you ever know an American to fail to make it worth your while?" He
considered, and looked me over appraisingly.

"It will be twenty francs then, Madame." This was too outrageous.

"Ah non," I said in my turn, but I laughed. "_Ecoutez_, do you know what
is in that box I am going to get? Toys for the little children of the
devastated regions. If I don't take it with me they will have nothing,
nothing at all for Christmas."

"Eh, what?" His old heart was moved. "_Pays devaste? C'est vrai? Bien,
Madame_, I will take you anywhere you wish." And he started the car. On
our way through traffic he related to me over his shoulder how his wife
and children had fled from Soissons while he was driving a _camion_ at
the front, and that their home was gone.

At the _Grand Bazaar_ Mademoiselle Froissart was waiting with the huge
crate of toys. It was hoisted onto the front seat beside the chauffeur,
who, far from grumbling at its size, was most solicitous in placing it
so that it would not jar. "We mustn't break the dolls," he said with a
wink. Arriving at the station he insisted upon carrying it to the
baggage room for us. "_Hey, mon vieux!_" he addressed the baggage man,
"step lively and get that case on the train for Noyon. It's full of
dolls--dolls for the little girls." And the whole force laughed and flew
to the crate, and tenderly hustled it out to the train with paternal
interest.

"Merry Christmas and many thanks," I said to our driver, holding out the
twenty francs. He did not glance at the money and pushed back my hand.

"_Non, non, Mademoiselle, c'est un plaisir_," he murmured. I protested,
but his whole expression pleaded. "It's not much, Mademoiselle. It's for
the little girls--out there."

Passing through the gate, I looked back and saw him stil