Chapter XXV: The Reparation

Whilst I vainly pondered a means of convincing Alfred of my repentance, the children approached the spot where I browsed and meditated at the same time. I saw that Alfred kept at a distance and regarded me with mistrust.

William—“It is going to be warm to-day, and I don’t think it will be pleasant to go far. It would be better for us to remain in the shady park.”

Alfred—“William is right, I have never regained my strength since that spell of sickness which nearly brought me to the grave, and consequently I am very easily fatigued.”

Henry—“You must owe Cadichon a grudge, since he was the cause of your illness.”

Alfred—“I do not believe he did it purposely, he was probably frightened at something on the road, and jumped aside, accidentally pitching me into that frightful ditch. So I do not hate him, but—”

William—“But what?”

“But,” said Alfred, blushing slightly, “I would rather not get on him again.”

The poor boy’s generosity touched me, and increased my regret at having treated him so badly.

Maud and Beatrice now proposed to do some cooking. The children had built in their garden an oven, which they heated with dry wood, gathering it themselves, and this proposition was joyfully received.

They ran to get kitchen aprons and returned to their garden prepared for work. Alfred and William brought the wood; breaking each branch in two, they filled their oven.

Before kindling the fire, they held a consultation as to what they should have for breakfast.

“I wish an omelet,” said Maud.

Beatrice—“I, coffee and whipped cream.”

Elizabeth—“I, cutlets.”

William—“I, cold veal with vinegar sauce.”

Henry—“I, potato salad.”

James—“I, strawberries and cream.”

Louis—“I, slices of bread and butter.”

Helen—“I, grated sugar.”

Ruth—“And I, cherries.”

Alfred—“I will cut the bread, set the table, prepare the wine and water, and help generally.”

And each one went to the kitchen to get materials for the desired dish. Maud brought eggs, butter, salt, pepper, a fork and a frying pan.

“I must have some fire to melt my butter and cook my eggs,” said she. “Alfred, Alfred, some fire, if you please.”

“Where must I kindle it?”

“Near the oven, be quick, I am beating my eggs.”

“Alfred, Alfred,” called out Beatrice, “run to the kitchen and get the coffee for the whipped cream, I forgot it, be quick.”

“I must kindle the fire for Maud.”

“You can do that afterwards, run quick and get my coffee, now it will not take you long, and I am in a hurry.”

Alfred started off in a run.

“Alfred, Alfred,” said Elizabeth, “I must have some embers and a gridiron for my cutlets; I have cut them nicely.”

Alfred, who ran with the coffee, set out again for the gridiron.

“I must have oil for my vinegar sauce,” said William.

“And I, vinegar for my salad,” said Henry, “quick, Alfred with the oil and vinegar.”

Alfred who had just brought the gridiron, returned for the vinegar and oil.

“Oh! my fire!” said Maud, “is that how you light it, Alfred? My eggs are beaten, you are going to make me lose my omelet.”

“My commissions have been so numerous, I have not had time to light the fire.”

“And the coals?” cried Elizabeth, “where are you, Alfred? you have forgotten my coals!”

“No, Elizabeth, I have not been able to get them, I have been kept running.”

“Hurry, Alfred, or I shall not have time to broil my cutlets,” was the reply.

“And I must have a knife to cut my slices of bread,” said Louis, “bring a knife, quick, Alfred.”

“I have no sugar for my strawberries, grate the sugar, Helen, hurry,” said James.

“I have grated till I am tired,” she answered, “I am going to rest a little—I am so thirsty!”

“Eat some cherries,” said Ruth, “I am thirsty, too.”

“And so am I,” chimed in James, “I am going to taste a few to refresh myself.”

“I shall do the same,” added Louis, “it is very fatiguing to cut bread.”

And the four little ones surrounded the basket of cherries.

“Let us sit down,” said Ruth, “it will be more convenient whilst refreshing ourselves.”

They refreshed themselves so well that they ate every cherry. When the basket was empty they looked anxiously at one another.

“They are all gone,” said Ruth.

“We are going to get scolded,” answered Helen.

“Oh! what shall we do?” inquired Louis, anxiously.

“Ask Cadichon to come to our aid,” said James.

“What do you want Cadichon to do?” replied Louis, “he cannot make cherries appear in the basket when we have eaten them all!”

“He might do what amounts to the same,” said James. “Cadichon, my good Cadichon, come to our aid, see this empty basket and try to fill it.”

I was very near the four little gourmands.

James put the empty basket under my nose to help me understand what he wanted. I smelt it and started off in a trot; going to the kitchen where I had seen some one take a basket of cherries, I seized the basket between my teeth, trotted off with it and deposited it in the midst of the children, still seated around the stones and stems in their plates.

A cry of joy greeted my return. The others turned around at this and inquired the meaning of it.

“It is Cadichon! Cadichon!” exclaimed James.

“Don’t tell,” said Ruth, “they will know then that we ate up the other cherries.”

“Well, suppose they do know it,” answered James, “I wish them also to know how kind and intelligent Cadichon is.”

And running to them, he told how I had repaired their greediness. Instead of scolding the four little ones, they praised James’s frankness and bestowed the highest eulogiums upon my intelligence.

Meanwhile Alfred had kindled Maud’s fire, and brought Elizabeth’s coals; Maud cooked her omelet, Beatrice finished her cream, Elizabeth her cutlets, William cut his veal in slices preparatory to making the seasoning, Henry stirred and stirred his potato salad; James made a mush of strawberries and cream, Louis cut a pile of buttered bread, Helen grated sugar until the sugar bowl was empty, Ruth picked over the basket of cherries, whilst Alfred breathless and in a perspiration, set the table, ran for fresh water to cool the wine, and vessels of radishes, cucumbers, sardines and olives to ornament the table. He had forgotten the salt, he had not thought of the covers, glasses were wanting, May bugs and gnats had fallen into the goblets and on plates. When, at last, everything was ready and on the table, Maud, clapping her hands to her forehead, exclaimed:

“Ah! We have forgotten one thing, to ask our mammas’ permission to breakfast out-doors on a meal of our own preparation.”

“Let us go at once,” was the unanimous answer; “Alfred will keep guard over the breakfast.”

And, darting towards the house, they rushed into the parlor, where their papas and mammas were assembled.

The sudden appearance of all these children, red, breathless, arrayed in kitchen aprons like scullions, quite surprised their parents.

Each one ran to his or her mamma, and asked the required permission with such volubility that, at first, it was impossible to know what they meant. After a few questions and explanations, it was granted, and they hastened back to Alfred and their breakfast. But Alfred had disappeared.

“Alfred! Alfred!” they cried.

“Here I am, here I am,” answered a voice apparently from the skies.

Looking up, they perceived Alfred, perched in an oak tree. He began to descend slowly and cautiously.

“What made you climb up there?” said William and Henry; “what a strange idea that was!”

Alfred made no reply, but continued to get down, and when he had reached the ground the children were surprised to see him pale and trembling.

“Why did you climb that tree, Alfred? what has happened to you?” said Beatrice.

“If it had not been for Cadichon, you would not have found me or your breakfast either; I climbed the oak tree to save my life.”

“Do tell us what has happened!” said William; “how could Cadichon save your life and our breakfast?”

“Let us take our places at the table and listen whilst we eat, I am dying of hunger,” said Maud.

They seated themselves on the grass, around the table-cloth; Maud helped to her omelet, which was excellent; and Elizabeth, in turn, to her cutlets, which were very nice, but cooked a little too much. The rest of the breakfast followed, everything turning out quite satisfactorily. Whilst they ate, Alfred recounted the following:

“You had scarcely started ere the two big farm dogs, attracted by the smell of food, came running to the spot. I seized a stick, and, brandishing it before them, tried to drive them off, but in vain; they could not resist the sight of the cutlets, the omelet, the bread, the butter, the cream; instead of flying from my stick, which they little feared, they rushed at me; I threw the stick at the head of the biggest, and it jumped on my back—”

“How could it jump on your back?” said Henry; “he went behind you, did he?”

“No,” said Alfred, blushing; “but, having thrown my stick at him, I had no means of defense, and you can certainly understand the folly of my letting myself be devoured by hungry dogs.”

“Oh! I understand now,” replied Henry in a tone of raillery, “it was you who turned upon your heel to escape.”

“I was running to find you and the beasts were running after me, when Cadichon came to my assistance. Seizing the biggest dog by the skin of the back, he shook him well, whilst I sought safety by climbing a tree. The other dog leaped at me, caught me by my clothes, and would have torn me to pieces, had not Cadichon rescued me from this animal also. Giving a good final bite to the first dog, and throwing him up in the air whence he fell a few steps farther off, bruised and bleeding, Cadichon now seized the tail of the dog that held me, which act freed me at once, for, of course, my assailant immediately relinquished his hold. After pulling him a little distance, Cadichon turned around with incredible agility, and gave him a kick on the jaw bone that must have broken several teeth. The two dogs went off yelping, and I was about to descend when you came.”

All admired my courage and presence of mind, and came up to me, loading me with caresses and praises.

“You see now for yourselves,” said James, with a triumphant air and sparkling eyes, “that my friend Cadichon has become excellent, I don’t know whether you care for him or not, but I do more than ever. We will always be the best of friends, won’t we Cadichon?”

I did my best to respond with a joyful bray; the children laughed and resuming their seats at the table, continued their repast. Beatrice now served her cream.

“That’s good cream!” said James.

“I wish some more,” said Louis.

“And I, and I,” cried Helen and Ruth. Beatrice was much pleased with her success. Indeed, every dish had given such satisfaction, that the table was entirely cleared. Poor James, however, had a slight humiliation. His charge was the strawberries and cream. He had sugared his cream and poured it over the stemmed strawberries, making a very nice looking dish. Unfortunately for him, he finished before the others. Seeing there was plenty of time, he concluded to improve it and his dish together, by mashing the berries in the cream. He crushed and he crushed, so long and so well, that the result was a thick pap, quite nice to the taste, but very uninviting in appearance.

Then James’s turn arrived to serve the strawberries.

“Oh! what are you giving me,” exclaimed Maud, “what is it? red pap? What is it made of?”

“It is not red pap,” answered James somewhat confused, “it is strawberries and cream, and very nice, I assure you, Maud; taste it, and you will see.”

“Strawberries?” said Beatrice, “where are the strawberries? I see none. This stuff looks disgusting.”

“Oh! yes, it is disgusting,” echoed all the rest.

“I thought they would be nicer crushed,” said poor little James, his eyes full of tears. “But if you wish it, I will go quickly and pick some more strawberries, and get some cream from the house.”

“No, no, James,” said Elizabeth, touched at his gentleness, “your cream is, no doubt, very nice. Give me some, I will eat it with great pleasure.”

James’s face brightened, he kissed Elizabeth and helped her most bountifully.

The other children, softened like Elizabeth by James’s mildness and good will, asked for some of his dish, and all, after tasting, pronounced it excellent, much better indeed than if the berries had been whole.

Little James, who had been anxiously watching their countenances as they tasted his cream, became radiant when he saw the success of his invention; he partook of it himself, and although not much remained for him, there was enough to make him regret not having made more.

Breakfast over, they washed the dishes in a large tub, that had been accidentally left out, and filled during the night from the rainspout.

This was not the least amusing part of the business, and it was still in progress when the study bell sounded, and their parents called them to their books. They begged a quarter of an hour’s grace, to finish wiping the dishes and putting them away. It was granted, and before the expiration of the time, everything was carried back to the kitchen, put in its place, the children at their studies, and Alfred having said good-bye, was about to start home.

Before leaving, he called me to him, and seeing that I approached, he ran to me, caressing and thanking me by his words and pattings for the service I had rendered him. I received this expression of gratitude with pleasure. It confirmed me in the opinion that Alfred was much better than I had at first judged him, that he was neither revengeful nor malicious, and also, that if somewhat cowardly and stupid, it was not his fault.

I had occasion a few days afterwards to render him a new service.