Special Delivery

Cronk lifted the two girls, one in each muscular forearm. He would have placed one on each shoulder, but they would have continually hit their heads upon the ceiling. He knew he could move faster by carrying them, so he held each like a loaf of bread, despite their protests, which Cronk could not understand because he didn’t understand French.

“Cronk help girls,” Cronk insisted, trying to help them understand.

His main concern was getting these two to safety. He was glad to be helping children. It was the children with whom Cronk could quickly become attached. Cronk was a child at heart in most things.

Cronk paused at each fork, remembering in his mind which way they had come. He passed through each area, talking himself through each decision.

At the last intersection, Cronk at first chose the wrong direction. When he realized nothing looked familiar, Cronk turned around. Once back at the intersection, Cronk chose the correct path, heading out of the passages.

Once outside, Cronk placed the girls down and waved Marcil over to them. “Cronk bring girls,” he explained to Marcil. “Girls safe now.”