IN THE FRENCH CROSS WOOD.
In early days old Louis Gastonguay, who had no mind to be teased by the Indians as were other less shrewd settlers, purchased from a band of Penobscots their summer camping-ground, consisting of a strip of beautiful woodland extending along the river bank behind his log cabin.
To ensure peaceful possession, he paid what was considered an exorbitant price for two hundred acres of land, but time proved that the price he paid was not a ruinous one, for during the long Indian wars not a Gastonguay lost his scalp, though there were some members of his family little liked by the red men.
This wood had been, through successive generations, the pride of the Gastonguays, and it had been cleared and embellished by various members of the family until at this time it was famed throughout the State for its combination of natural and artificial beauty.
Miss Gastonguay and her guests strolled in a leisurely way through its shady alleys, crossing andrecrossing at intervals the one broad avenue that ran through it. The sun was hot overhead, but protecting pines and spruces interposed verdant and sheltering arms, and gently waved toward the pedestrians a river breeze that caught and carried to them a dozen spicy odours from the forest paths.
Justin went with his hat in his hand, his mother on his arm. Captain White kept up an animated conversation with his hostess, who seemed to have some particular attraction for him, while Derrice, with the pony, wandered erratically behind, sometimes in the path, sometimes far from it, in search of some shy wild flower that had stretched out a slender neck to look at them, and then had vainly tried to hide itself from her vandal fingers behind some leafy fern.
The pony adored Derrice, and he was greatly interested in the wild flowers. As he stood with his delicate hoofs planted in mossy beds, his fat knees hidden by branching brakes, he often extended his head over her shoulder, and if he approved, by his sense of smell, of the blossom she was gathering, he immediately appropriated it as a dainty morsel for his own delectation.
Derrice playfully slapped his face, and finally taking off her beflowered hat perched it on his head, whereupon, having something else to think of, he left her alone and stood sheepishly waiting for her to rejoin the rest of the party.
After a time she threw an arm over his neck and hurried after the others. Miss Gastonguay had been looking for her herd of tame deer, but was just giving up the quest. "It is too hot," she said, "they have probably gone across the swamps. Shall we sit here?" and she indicated a circular seat about an enormous oak-tree.
"Have you ever favoured Derrice with the story of this tree?" asked Justin, as they sat down.
"I believe I have."
"Yes, ever so long ago," said Derrice, shaking the sunbeams from her uncovered head. "See if I have it right,—the Gastonguays in Revolutionary time warmly espoused the cause of the colonies. They considered one of their sea captains a traitor, so they tied him to this tree and whipped him soundly until he took an oath of fidelity to his country, and promised to fight against the 'Bands of Tyranny,' whose 'Plodding Pates' had long projected methods to enslave his countrymen. He took the oath and they set him loose, and drank several draughts of toddy with him and lived in 'Peace and Harmony' ever after. I saw the record in the French Cross attic. Dear Miss Gastonguay, tell some other stories of the olden times."
Miss Gastonguay happened to be in a humour for reminiscences, and, without further persuasion, she launched into a recital of her family history throughthe cruel Indian wars, the days of painful adversity that fell upon the colony, the stirring episodes of the Revolutionary War, and the War of the Rebellion, in which four Gastonguays, who served in the gallant First Maine Regiment, were killed and buried in Southern soil.
"You forgot about the black day of 1780," Derrice reminded her when she stopped.
Miss Gastonguay patiently went back and related the story of her family's sudden exodus from Rossignol during a brief occupancy by the British, of their sojourn in the wilderness, and of their fright on a certain dark day when candles were lighted at noon, and the whole country sat in terrified expectancy of the sudden ending of the world. This story ended, she closed her lips and refused to talk further.
"It is too fine to sit still," said Captain White, who had been listening to her words with breathless interest, but who found the spell broken when she ceased to speak. "I'm going up river to see if that old prison is still scowling at your property with its hangdog face. Does any one want to go?"
"I do," said Derrice, springing up and catching her hat from the pony who had been standing with pink ribbons hanging foolishly over his ears. "Won't you come, Miss Gastonguay?"
"Not to that place."
"Why not?—the river is superb from there."
Miss Gastonguay obstinately shook her head. Never again in her life would she look on the old red-shingled building. "Perhaps I'll come to meet you," she said, when Derrice made no pretence at concealing her disappointment.
"I guess you'd better stay behind, too, Hippolyta," said Captain White to his flushed spouse. "You look as if you'd been having a staring match with old Sol and he'd beaten you. What are you for, Justin?"
"Nothing, but to be let alone," said the young man, enjoyably. He had stretched himself out on the bench behind the giant tree, and only his head was visible to the people on the other side of it.
"Take off your glasses and rest your eyes," said Derrice, going to him and putting his spectacles in his pocket. "We won't be long," and, surreptitiously kissing the ear in which she whispered the words, she hurried after her escort, who was walking briskly along with both elbows cutting the air in his usual fashion.
"They're as lively as two mosquitoes," observed Mrs. White, amiably.
"And I'm as sleepy as an owl," said Miss Gastonguay. "I haven't been resting well lately. If you'll hold your tongue for ten minutes, Hippolyta Prymmer, or rather White, I believe I'll drop off," and she drowsily laid her head against the hard tree trunk.
"I guess I'll copy you," said Mrs. White, phlegmatically, but in making her arrangements for a nap she selected a spot where pine-needles most thickly strewed the ground.
Justin laughed in his sleeve, but in two minutes he, too, had joined the ladies in a brief nap, and only the pony was left to gaze amiably from one sleeper to another, and guard them from intruders.