Patricia St John Series

by Patricia St John

  “Come in,” called Monsieur Givet, surprised, for it was much too soon for the early breakfast he had ordered. It was only about half past five.

  The door opened and the night porter came in. He looked as though he had some rather mysterious news.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he began, tilting his head to one side, “but you weren’t by any chance expecting a visitor?”

  “A visitor?” echoed Monsieur Givet, even more surprised, “at this hour and in this weather? I certainly am not.”

  “Well, sir,” said the porter, “it’s like this. Just a quarter of an hour ago I heard a little tap on the door, and when I opened it, there on the steps stood a boy on skis, about twelve years old, sir, white as a sheet and looking more like a ghost than a boy. ‘I want Monsieur Givet,’ he said, without even stopping to say good morning. Then he sat down on the step and leaned his head against the doorway.

  “‘Well,’ I said to him, ‘you can’t come calling on people at this hour of the morning, laddie. He’s asleep in his bed.’

  “‘I’ll wait, then,’ he said, and his head sank down onto his knees.

  “Well, I don’t like to see a child like that, so I took off his skis and dragged him in and sat him on a chair. ‘Where have you come from?’ I asked him.

  “‘From Pré d’Oré,’ he said.

  “‘How’s that?’ I asked. ‘The early train isn’t in yet.’

  “‘I came over the Pass,’ he said. And Monsieur, the more I look at that boy the more I feel like believing him. He’s sitting down in the hall now, and when I passed your door, sir, and saw the light on, I thought I’d come in and ask if you’d like to see him.”

  “I’ll come and see him, certainly,” answered Monsieur Givet, “but I really can’t believe that story about him coming over the Pass. I don’t believe the mountain guides themselves could have crossed last night. It must have been terrible up there.”

  The porter shrugged his shoulders and led the way downstairs When they reached the hall they both ran forward with a cry of dismay.

  The boy had slithered off the chair and lay in a dead faint on the floor. His face looked strangely white.

  Monsieur Givet picked the unconscious child up in his arms. “I’ll take this boy to my room,” he said to the alarmed porter. “You bring me some hot water bottles and some brandy and coffee, and be as quick as you can.”

  Upstairs in his room he laid the boy on his bed, removed his sodden boots and socks, and rubbed his numb feet. Then he took off his snowy clothes and wrapped him in blankets. By this time the night porter had arrived, puffing very hard, with the bottles and the brandy and the steaming coffee.

  Monsieur Givet arranged the bottles and held a teaspoonful of brandy to Lucien’s white lips. He did not open his eyes, but gave a tired sigh and swallowed the brandy.

  “That’s right, laddie,” said Monsieur Givet.

  “You’ll soon be around.”

  When Lucien opened his eyes a few minutes later, he looked straight up into a kind brown face, and couldn’t think where he was. He felt so warm and comfortable and sleepy, he thought he would never want to move again as long as he lived. But he would like to know who the man with the kind brown face was, who looked at him so closely.

  “Who are you?” he murmured.

  Monsieur Givet didn’t answer at once. He raised Lucien’s head and gave him hot coffee. Lucien swallowed very slowly because it seemed too much of an effort to swallow just at the moment. When he had finished, he said again, “Who are you, and where am I?”

  “I’m Monsieur Givet,” replied the doctor. “I don’t know you, but I understand that you wanted me.”

  Lucien stared at him rather stupidly. He had been so tired that he had almost forgotten what he had come for. But with the warmth and the food things were beginning to get clear again, and at last he spoke.

  “Are you a great, clever, famous doctor?”

  “No, I’m just a doctor.”

  “But can you make lame children walk?”

  “It depends on why they are lame. Sometimes I can.”

  “He’s lame because he fell over a precipice. He walks with a crutch and a big boot.”

  “Who does?” asked the bewildered Monsieur Givet.

  “Little Dani Burnier. He’s six. He lives in the chalet next to mine. I came to ask if you could make him well. I’ve got enough money to pay you.”

  “How did you hear of me?”

  “My sister told me about you last night. My sister is a maid here.”

  “How did you get here in that storm?”

  “I came over the Pass on my skis.”

  “You couldn’t have done that, boy, not in that blizzard.”

  “But I did. There’s no other way to come.”

  It was quite true. Monsieur Givet sat looking at the boy as though he were something from another planet. As the doctor stared, Lucien’s hand crept under the shirt he was still wearing and took out the fat stocking.

  “Please, sir,” he said, “would this be enough to make him better?”

  Monsieur Givet emptied the stocking and gave a cry of astonishment.

  “My boy,” said Monsieur Givet quite gently but very firmly, “before we go any further you must tell me where you got all this money from. Do you know how much there is?”

  “No,” said Lucien rather drowsily. “But my sister said you’d want a lot. Is it enough?”

  “That depends on whether you want to buy my clinic as well,” replied the doctor. “It’s far too much. Where did you get it from?”

  “An old man I’m friends with gave it to me,” murmured Lucien, who felt he could not keep his eyes open another minute, “and there was a message. He said it was the payment of a debt, and you were to take it all.”

  “Who was this old man?” asked Monsieur Givet. “Just tell me that, and then you shall go to sleep. What is his name?”

  “Please, sir, I don’t know.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “He made me promise not to tell you.” With that, Lucien’s eyes closed and his head rolled over to one side. He fell fast asleep.

  Monsieur Givet was in rather an awkward situation. His train was due to leave in three-quarters of an hour. But the boy lying on the bed had risked his life to come to him. It might be all for nothing, but he couldn’t disappoint such a brave child by refusing to see the little cripple. Yet the lad would probably sleep for hours now.

  He left the room softly, went downstairs to the telephone, and rang his wife.

  “Are you there, Marthe?” he began. “Darling, I’m so sorry, but I shan’t be home till tomorrow. Such a strange thing has happened.” And he told her the whole mysterious story.

  As he left the office he was nearly knocked over by a red-eyed, pale-faced girl in outdoor clothes. She caught hold of his hand.

  “Oh, sir,” she cried, “Porter tells me you’ve got my little brother safe upstairs. Mother and I thought he was dead in the drifts. I must go home quick and tell my mother he’s here.”

  Monsieur Givet sat down beside her on a sofa and tried to get some sort of explanation out of her, but she could talk of little but the terrible night she and her mother had passed through.

  Marie could tell Monsieur Givet very little about Dani. She was too upset to work, and now that she knew Lucien was safe she was in a hurry to take him home. She would telephone the post office now, and they would get a child to run up the mountain with the news so that her mother would hear more quickly.

  But Monsieur Givet would not hear of Lucien going home just yet. Marie could go home by herself, and when Lucien woke he would bring him on the train. Marie had better get someone to send a mule sleigh to the station, as Lucien would probably be too stiff to walk.

  Marie agreed to everything and made off as fast as she could while Monsieur Givet went back to his room. Lucien still lay just as he had left him, with his cheek resting on his hand But there was a faint tinge of color in his face. He looked much b
etter. Monsieur Givet sat down and watched him and wondered again how the boy had got all that money. Who was the old man who had sent such a strange message?

  “The payment of a debt!” Monsieur Givet decided to look into the matter very closely.

  Lucien woke at midday, and once again could not remember where he was for quite a long time. He was aching all over and didn’t want to move. Monsieur Givet heard a little movement and came to see what was happening.

  “Well,” he asked kindly, “how do you feel?”

  “All right, thank you,” answered Lucien. Then he remembered that he’d been to sleep and added worriedly, “Will you have time to see the little boy I told you about, sir?”

  “Yes,” said Monsieur Givet, sitting down beside him. “We’ll go after dinner. I’ll ring now for them to send up dinner for two, and while we eat you can tell me all about this little boy and all about this old man whom you say sent the money.”

  “I can’t tell you about the old man, sir,” replied Lucien, “because I promised not to. He’s a sort of secret, and no one ever goes to see him except me. He said I was just to tell you it was the payment of a debt and nothing else at all, sir. And he’s been so kind to me, I couldn’t break my promise.”

  “All right,” said Monsieur Givet. “You shan’t break your promise. I won’t ask you anything more about him. Tell me about this little cripple. When did he hurt himself, and how did it happen?”

  Lucien went very red. He didn’t answer for a few minutes. He didn’t want to tell his new friend what had really happened, but as Monsieur Givet would be sure to find out from the Burniers, it might be better if he heard it first from Lucien. So he replied, “It was my fault, really. It was last spring. I was teasing him. I pretended to drop his kitten over the ravine, then by mistake I really did drop it. Dani tried to rescue it and fell and hurt his leg, and since then he’s never walked properly—only with crutches—and I thought perhaps …”

  His lips trembled and his voice trailed off miserably into a whisper. But he had said enough. For the doctor loved and understood children, and in those few broken sentences he had understood the whole story. He knew that this tired boy lying on the bed had been punished very bitterly.

  “Lucien,” he said, “we’ll see this child together. It may be that God is going to make you the means of curing him. You know, Lucien, you have a great deal to thank God for. I think He must have been looking after you in a very special way last night or you would never have come across the Pass alive.”

  “Yes, I know,” answered Lucien shyly and eagerly. “You see, only yesterday I prayed that God would make Dani better. Then when I heard about you, I thought it was the answer. But when I got to the forest, I felt frightened and nearly went back, but I remembered something I heard at Christmas and thought I’d go on instead.”

  “What did you remember?” asked Monsieur Givet gently.

  “I remembered some verses in the Bible that Dani’s grandmother read to us,” answered Lucien slowly. “I can’t remember it all, but it said that perfect love drives out fear. And Grandmother said Jesus’ love was perfect, so I wasn’t afraid and I went on. I can’t remember much about the journey, but I got here safely.”

  “Yes,” replied Monsieur Givet. “I don’t think anything but the perfect love of the Lord Jesus could have sheltered you in that storm or guided you on the right road or kept you from being too afraid to go on. He’s been very, very good to you, Lucien. Let’s thank Him now, before our dinner comes.”

  Lucien buried his face in the pillow, and Monsieur Givet knelt by the bed and prayed. He thanked God for His perfect love that is stronger than storm or blizzard, which had guided Lucien’s steps through the darkness and saved him from fear and death. Then he prayed for little Dani, that God would give him, the doctor, skill to heal that lame leg.

  Lucien, with his face in the pillow, prayed as well, only not out loud “Lord Jesus,” he cried in his heart, “You were near me on the mountain and I wasn’t afraid. Don’t go away again. I want to open my door like Annette did. Please come in.”

  23

  Dani Meets the Doctor

  Monsieur Burnier met the mule train himself, with his own mule sleigh, and drove Monsieur Givet and Lucien up to the chalet. All the villagers came to their front doors to see the famous doctor pass, as everyone had heard the story. They were all talking about Lucien as if he was a great hero for being so brave to cross the Pass as he did.

  Monsieur Burnier sat silently in the driver’s seat, not knowing what to think about it all. It was rather a responsibility having such a famous man on that sleigh. He only hoped the mule, who was very frisky that day, wouldn’t tip the sleigh over the edge on one of the bends, which often happened.

  He was worried about the money, too. Of course he would give every penny he had to see Dani cured, but he didn’t have many pennies, and what if they weren’t enough? Perhaps this very famous man would accept a young bull by way of payment.

  Fortunately, they reached the chalet without any adventures or upsets, and Monsieur Burnier helped the doctor get down and then lifted poor Lucien in his strong arms and carried him up the steps and into the front room, where he laid him on the couch. He, too, was pleased to see Lucien, for he had spent a long, weary night searching for him in the drifts.

  Grandmother, Annette, and Dani looked rather odd, as though they were about to have their photo taken. They were all dressed in their very best clothes, sitting in a stiff little group on the edge of the best chairs. They looked as though they had been sitting there expecting the very famous man for a long time. When he came in, Annette and Dani looked at Grandmother and stood up politely.

  Dani was not at all pleased. He had thought that a very famous man would be dressed in a red robe like the governor who made William Tell shoot the apple off his son’s head, in Annette’s Swiss history book. This stranger who came in behind Papa didn’t look very special at all.

  The doctor sat on a chair as far away as possible from the group and smiled at them. He had a nice broad smile, and Dani forgot his disappointment and smiled back.

  Monsieur Givet put his hand in his pocket, took out a sweet, and held it out.

  “Would you like a sweet, Dani?” he asked.

  Dani grinned happily and nodded his head hard.

  “Come and fetch it, then,” said Monsieur Givet, and Dani hopped delightedly across the room while the doctor watched him very closely. When the child reached him, he lifted him onto his knee and put the sweet in his mouth.

  He really liked this family—especially this chuckling, friendly, blue-eyed little boy who sat noisily sucking a sweet on his lap. He noticed, too, that there was no mother, and wondered whether it was the old woman or the little girl who kept the chalet looking so neat and tidy.

  “Does your leg hurt?” asked Monsieur Givet.

  “No,” answered Dani.

  “No, Monsieur,” corrected Grandmother.

  “Monsieur,” added Dani. “Only sometimes, when I walk without my crutches. My crutches have got bears’ heads on them. Would you like to see them?”

  “Very much indeed,” said Monsieur Givet, and as Dani hopped over to fetch them he again watched him very closely.

  “I can do enormous great hops on my crutches,” announced Dani proudly. “Would you like to see me?”

  “Very much indeed,” answered the doctor again.

  “Be careful of the chairs, Dani,” said Grandmother quickly, for she had forbidden Dani to do enormous great hops in the house. Annette quickly picked up two kittens, as she wasn’t sure where Dani would land.

  The hop was a huge success, and the doctor clapped his hands. “Well done,” he cried. “That was exactly like a kangaroo I once saw at the zoo. Now put down your crutches and walk to me without them.”

  Dani limped toward him, smiling, but dragging his lame leg rather pitifully. Monsieur Givet smiled back, lifted the little boy very gently onto his knee again, and gave him another sweet.
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br />   Grandmother, who had been watching very closely, turned to Annette.

  “Annette,” she said, “put the kettle on and make a pot of tea and bring out the biscuit tin.”

  While Annette was getting the tea, Monsieur Givet laid Dani flat on the table and twisted and turned his leg about for a long time. In fact, when he had finished the tea was ready and Grandmother invited him to sit down and drink with them. He seemed to be thinking hard.

  “Well,” said Grandmother at last, rather sharply, “can you do anything for him?”

  Every eye in the room was fixed on him as they waited for his answer—except for Dani, whose eyes were fixed on the biscuits, because they had forgotten to pass him one and Grandmother would be cross if he got up and helped himself. They were special bricelet biscuits—thin, crisp, golden and delicious, and Grandmother made them once a month on a special grill.

  Monsieur Givet did not answer at once. He turned to Dani instead.

  “Dani,” he said, “would you like to be able to run about like other little boys?”

  Dani hesitated. He was not quite sure. He was the only boy in the village who had bear crutches, and it made him a very special person. Then he remembered that spring was coming, and unless he could run about he would not be able to chase the baby goats in the meadows as he had done last year. And chasing baby goats was such good fun.

  So he said, “Yes, thank you, I would. And please, Grandmother, may I have a bricelet biscuit?”

  No one answered. Lucien and Annette were sitting with their cups held in midair and both were rather pale. Everyone was still staring at Monsieur Givet.

  “Dani,” said the doctor suddenly, “where’s that fine cat gone?”

  “To the woodshed,” said Dani. “Would you like to see her? She’s got three kittens.”

  “Yes, please,” answered Monsieur Givet, and Dani limped off to find Klaus, helping himself to two bricelet biscuits as he passed the table, but nobody seemed to notice.

  As soon as the door had closed on Dani, Monsieur Givet turned to Papa.