shing, and crowds pushing and
shouting, as she ran up--a little gray figure, with the lantern-spark
glimmering like any tiny glow-worm astray in a gas-lit city.

"To Paris?" she asked, entreatingly, going where she saw others going, to
a little grated wicket in a wall.

"Twenty-seven francs--quick!" they demanded of her. Bebee gave a great
cry, and stood still, trembling and trying not to sob aloud. She had
never thought of money; she had forgotten that youth and strength and
love and willing feet and piteous prayers,--all went for nothing as this
world is made.

A hope flashed on her and a glad thought. She loosed the silver buckles,
and held them out.

"Would you take these? They are worth much more."

There was a derisive laughter; some one bade her with an oath begone;
rough shoulders jostled her away. She stretched her arms out piteously.

"Take me--oh, pray take me! I will go with the sheep, with the
cattle--only, only take me!"

But in the rush and roar none heeded her; some thief snatched the silver
buckles from her hand, and made off with them and was lost in the throng;
a great iron beast rushed by her, snorting flame and bellowing smoke;
there was a roll like thunder, and all was dark; the night express had
passed on its way to Paris.

Bebee stood still, crushed for a moment with the noise and the cruelty
and the sense of absolute desolation; she scarcely noticed that the
buckles had been stolen; she had only one thought--to get to Paris.

"Can I never go without money?" she asked at the wicket; the man there
glanced a moment, with a touch of pity, at the little wistful face.

"The least is twenty francs--surely you must know that?" he said, and
shut his grating with a clang.

Bebee turned away and went out of the great cruel, tumultuous place; her
heart ached and her brain was giddy, but the sturdy courage of her nature
rose to need.

"There is no way at all to go without money to Paris, I suppose?" she
asked of an old woman whom she knew a little, who sold nuts and little
pictures of saints and wooden playthings under the trees, in the avenue
hard by.

The old woman shook her head.

"Eh?--no, dear. There is nothing to be done anywhere in the world without
money. Look, I cannot get a litre of nuts to sell unless I pay
beforehand."

"Would it be far to walk?"

"Far! Holy Jesus! It is right away in the heart of France--over two
hundred miles, they say; straight out through the forest. Not