"Oh, let me try!" Bobbie went on; "I do really know one or two French words if I could only think of them."
Sometimes, in moments of great need, we can do wonderful things—things that in ordinary life we could hardly even dream of doing. Bobbie had never been anywhere near the top of her French class, but she must have learned something without knowing it, for now, looking at those wild, hunted eyes, she actually made up, and what is more, spoke, a French sentence. She said:—
"Vous attendre. Ma mére parleze Français Nous—what's the French for 'being kind'?"
Nobody knew.
"Bong is 'good,'" said Phyllis.
"Nous être bong pour vous."
I do not know whether the man understood her words, but he understood the touch of the hand she thrust into his, and the kindness of the other hand that stroked his shabby sleeve.
She pulled him gently towards the inmost sanctuary of the Station Master. The other children followed, and the Station Master shut the door in the face of the crowd, which stood a little while in the booking office talking and looking at the fast closed yellow door, and then by ones and twos went its way, grumbling.
