Finally Jack succeeded in twisting one of his long legs quickly around one of his adversary’s, thereby throwing him heavily to the ground. With a leap, Jack was astride of him, pinning his arms to the earth. The man tried to roll sufficiently to throw him off, but Jack was too well placed to allow him very much motion. Weight, anger, and unskilled methods had worked against him; now Jack had complete advantage.
“Shall I give you what you deserve?” demanded Jack, after a moment’s pause.
“Nough!” muttered the man sullenly.
“Get off this route, then, andstayoff of it; or next time—” threatened Jack, getting up. “Turn that team right around, and go back to Yarmouth, or wherever you come from!”
Slowly, keeping one eye on Jack the while, he obeyed. As soon as he was on the way, Desiré and the children ran toward their brother.
“Oh, Jack, aren’t you hurt somewhere?” demanded Desiré anxiously.
“Only a few bruises and scratches, thank God!” was the grateful response. “I kept wondering what you would do, poor child, if I were smashed up.”
After a good brushing, and “first-aid” treatment of his scratches, Jack pronounced himself as good as new.
“Children,” said Desiré, “we begged so hard for Jack’s safety. We mustn’t fail to say ‘Thank You’ for what we received. Let’s each say a little prayer of thanksgiving right now.”
After a moment of silence they again turned their attention to the business in hand. Desiré and the children stayed with the wagon, while Jack started once more toward the house.
At his knock, the inner door opened, a woman’s head showed behind the glass of the storm door, and then the outer door was pushed back. Almost every dwelling, no matter how small and unpretentious, has its storm door, and usually these are left on all summer.
“I’m taking old Simon’s route this summer,” began Jack, using the words he was to repeat so many times that season; “and I called to see if you need anything.”
“Yes, I do,” answered the plump little woman in the doorway, her black eyes busily inspecting Jack, and traveling rapidly to the wagon, the girl, and the children on the road. “I’m all out of thread, crackers, kerosene, and—what else was it? Oh, yes, shoe laces. Where’s old Simon? I’ve been watching out for him for three weeks.”
“Sick, in Yarmouth,” replied Jack, turning to go to the wagon to fill her order. The woman followed him.
“This your wife?” she asked, curiously staring at Desiré.
Jack flushed.
“No, my sister; and that is another sister, and my kid brother,” he replied, talking more rapidly than usual to hold the woman’s attention; for Desiré, overcome by laughter, had walked a few steps down the road to recover her composure.
“Where are your folks!”
“Dead,” was the brief reply.
“Now that’s too bad! You so young, and with three youngsters to keep. Dear! Dear!”
Desiré returned just in time to hear the last remarks, and her face twitched so in her efforts to control it that Jack himself had to bury his head in the depths of the wagon while he looked for the cracker boxes.
“Come up to the house with me when this young man carries my things in,” she said to Desiré, taking her by the arm. As if she were indeed a child, she led her along the path to the doorstep.
“Set here,” she directed; and disappeared into the house.
“Ready?” asked Jack, when he came out.
“I don’t know. I was told to ‘set here’; and here I ‘set,’” whispered Desiré.
At that moment the woman returned with a pasteboard box which she thrust into Desiré’s hands.
“Here’s a few cookies for your dinner. They always taste good to children, I guess.”
“Oh, thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy them,” responded the girl.
“Stop every time you come around,” called the odd little woman, as they closed the gate behind them.
“Well, our first sale wasn’t so bad,” observed Desiré, as they drove away. “But wasn’t she funny?”
“I thought you were going to disgrace us,” said Jack, smiling. “If you can’t behave any better than that, I’ll have to leave you beside the road somewhere and pick you up later.”
“Oh—o—o!” shrieked René.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jack, turning to look at the small boy behind him.
“Don’t want Dissy left anywhere! Want her with us!”
“Jack’s only fooling, darling; don’t cry,” consoled Desiré, reaching back over the seat to pet the little boy.
Peace and quiet having been restored, they jogged along the sunshiny road, and soon were abreast of St. Mary’s Bay, where flecks of white were dancing over the blue surface.
“White caps,” observed Desiré. “Fundy must be rough today.”
“Those are gulls,” corrected Jack, “at least so the Indians used to believe. The Spirit of the Sea was so fond of the birds that he caught a lot one day and, with a long string, tied their legs together. He keeps them down in his house under the water, and at times he lets the gulls come up to swim on the top of the water for air and exercise.”
“Why don’t they fly away then?Iwould!” asserted René, big-eyed with interest.
“Because the Spirit holds fast to the string, and when he thinks they’ve been out long enough, he pulls them all down under the water again.”
Between Saulnierville and Little Brook they made several stops and substantial sales. The picnic dinner which good Mrs. Riboux had insisted upon packing for them, they ate beside a shady stream in which many little fish darted about among the weeds. René insisted upon trying to catch some with his hands, but succeeded only in getting his clothing so splashed that Desiré had to stand him out in the sun to dry before they could continue on their way.
“There’s Church Point,” cried Desiré, later in the afternoon, pointing to the skyline ahead, where a tall spire topped with a cross rose proudly against the blue.
“How happy the sailors must be when they first catch sight of that point,” mused Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla.
“Because the spire can be seen for many miles out at sea, and the sailors use it as a guide.”
The shadows were getting long, and the air was much cooler by the time they drove into the little town. On St. Mary’s Bay several fishing boats had already been anchored near the sands, and farther out on the gilded water others were heading for the shore. Over the slight rise near the church they drove, and in and out among the ox teams and lines of slow-moving cows.
“Everybody’s goin’ home but us,” remarked René rather plaintively, making the tears spring to Desiré’s eyes, while the lines of Jack’s mouth became even more stern.
“Silly!” observed Priscilla. “Wearehome. Home’s where Jack and Desiré are.”
Desiré smiled up at Jack, and leaned back to squeeze her little sister’s arm.
“Shall we try to make our sales before supper, and then camp outside of town?” asked Jack; “or shall we eat, and then sell afterwards.”
“Sell first. Work before pleasure,” Desiré decided promptly.
At a house far beyond the church they came to a halt, and Desiré leaned from the wagon to call to a small boy in blue overalls, who sat on the gate watching them—“Tell your mother that old Simon’s wagon is here, please, and ask her if she wants anything.”
Without a word the little fellow slid down and ran into the house. Almost immediately a tall, loose-jointed man, whose resemblance to the child was marked, came out and crossed the yard.
“The missus is sick,” he explained, “but I know what she wants. She’s been talkin’ of nothin’ else for days. Buttons, five yards of calico, a pencil for the boy, and a few pounds of sugar. Got old Simon’s route for good?”
“I’m not sure. He’s sick in Yarmouth now.”
“So? That’s too bad. Are you going on up the Bay?”
“Expect to,” replied Jack, giving the man his purchases and counting out change.
“When you get to Digby would you tell the lady in the knickknack store that I’ll sell her the pitcher?”
“Glad to, if you’ll tell me how to find her.”
“Her store is the first one of its kind that you’ll pass. She catches all the tourists by a window full of trash, and a sign ‘Souvenir Shoppe’ or something like that. She was out here a few weeks ago looking for stuff, and wanted that pitcher, but the wife didn’t want to sell it then. Since she’s been sick, though, she’s more concerned about money than about old pitchers.”
After several more stops, most of which resulted in sales, Jack pulled off of the main road into a balsam grove, just before dusk.
“You children scamper around and find some dried wood for a fire,” he directed, swinging René down, and going to unharness the horses.
“Do you intend to build a fire in here, Jack?” asked Desiré doubtfully.
“No, on the sand across the road. Take some bacon and whatever else you need from the stock while I feed Dapple and Dolly.”
By the time he had made several trips with great armfuls of grass which he had pulled for the animals, Desiré had gathered together her supplies, and with the children’s help made a fire on the beach and set out their supper. When Jack appeared, he took charge of the frying of the bacon himself.
“Isn’t thisfun?” demanded Priscilla every few minutes. “Just like a picnic; and lots nicer than eating in a house.”
“Lots nicer,” echoed René, adding, “Now tell me a story.”
“Oliver Owl’s mother had told him again and again that he must not go anywhere near the big cave where the wicked witch Gamona lived,” began Jack slowly; “but Oliver was getting so big and strong that he thought he knew how to take care of himself. He had never seen the old woman, of whom all the forest folks spoke in whispers. So, early one evening, his curiosity got the better of him; and while his mother was making the beds—”
“Jack!” interrupted Priscilla, patronizingly, “people don’t make beds at night!”
“The owls do,” he replied gravely, “because they sleep in them all day and go out only at night. Around the big home tree he fluttered carelessly a while; then, suddenly, off like a shot toward a big pile of rocks whose top he could just see. Not a soul did he meet when he reached them, not a sound did he hear except the murmuring of a little breeze in the very top of the pines. So fast had he hurried that he was a very tired bird, and besides the aching of his wings he felt just a little bit doubtful about what would happen to him when he got home. So he alighted on the very highest rock of the big pile to rest, and decided how he would explain his absence to his mother. Hardly had he settled himself comfortably when a huge claw-like hand shot up from below him and grabbed his feet—”
“Oh!” squealed René.
“With a loud squawk he flapped his wings, and, bending and twisting as well as he could, managed to run his sharp beak into the fingers which grasped him. In the instant which was necessary for Gamona to get a fresh grip, Oliver struggled free; and you may believe that he lost no time in flying away from that dangerous spot. Instead of going right home, however, he went to see Glooscap, and tell him what had happened.
“‘My eyes are so small, I can’t see very well,’ he complained, after he had told the whole story.
“‘I’ll fix that,’ replied Glooscap, stroking the bird’s eyes until they became larger and larger and rounder and rounder. ‘Now you’ll be able to see her wherever you are. Keep faithful watch of her, and notify all the other creatures at night when she is near.’ So that is why the owl has such big eyes, and sits up in the trees crying ‘Who-o-o!’ all night long.
“And now you must go to bed.”
Leaving Priscilla to clear up and keep an eye on René, Jack and Desiré crossed to the grove to get things in order for the night. The tent was small, and after several unsuccessful attempts they succeeded in getting it up. Jack cut some balsam boughs for a mattress, and over them Desiré spread blankets, placing a couple of cushions for pillows. The floor of the nearby wagon was fixed in like manner for the two girls. René and Priscilla went to bed as soon as their quarters were ready for them, but Jack and Desiré, seated on a fallen log at the edge of the grove, lingered to watch the moon rising over the Bay and turning its smooth surface to silver. Fireflies flashed in the long grass at the edge of the grove, and deeper in the woods were mysterious little rustles and murmurs.
“The old settlers,” said Jack softly, “thought the fireflies were evil spirits, and used to set out pails of milk to appease them, and thus keep themselves and their property from all harm.”
“If they were as thick then as they are tonight,” laughed Desiré, “think how many pails they must have had. You know so many things, Jack”; adding, a moment later, something which had been on her mind all day.
“Do you suppose that man will ever come back?”
“You mean the one who disputed our rights?”
Desiré nodded, burying her face on her brother’s shoulder, much as Priscilla might have done.
“I hardly think so, dear,” replied Jack, stroking her curls. “He was pretty well subdued.”
“But he might try to get even with you some way,” shuddered the girl.
“We’ll keep a sharp lookout for him, but otherwise go on our way and try not to worry about mere possibilities, little sister,” decreed the boy firmly.
“If we could only find out what the paper means,” she observed a little later, her eyes on the shining waters of the Bay.
“What paper?” asked Jack suddenly, roused from serious thoughts of his own.
“Why, the onenôtre pèregave you; the mysterious one.”
“We might stop in the center of each town, read it aloud, and ask the inhabitants to interpret it for us,” Jack suggested. “Or you and I could take turns standing on top of the wagon and shouting it as we go along.”
Desiré laughed at his absurdities, as he intended she should.
“I don’t care. I’m going to pretend that we’re going to find out what it means before the summer is over.”
“Pretend as much as you like, as long as you won’t let yourself be overcome with disappointment if your day dream should turn out to be only a nightmare.”
A crash behind them made them spring to their feet in sudden fright, and a child’s shrieks rang through the woods.
“René!” gasped Desiré, darting back toward the tent.
Jack outstripped her, and when she reached the scene, he was just pulling his small brother out from under a pile of canvas.
“Not hurt,” he breathed with relief; “only badly frightened.”
He put René in Desiré’s lap, and went to examine the wreckage.
“One stake pulled right out,” he reported. “Wonder how that happened. I know I had it in tight, and there is practically no wind.”
“Could he have done it in any way?” asked Desiré, motioning to the little boy.
“René,” said Jack, stooping before the child, who was now quiet again, “did you do anything to the rope of the tent to make it fall?”
René glanced up into his brother’s face upon which shone the rays of the full moon, and, turning, burrowed deep into Desiré’s arms.
“Guilty, I guess. Tell me exactly what you did,” directed Jack.
“Woke up. Played I was a gull; rope was my string. Hung on it; old thing came down. Bang!”
“René,” said Jack, taking the child’s face between his hands, and forcing him to meet his eyes, “you mustnever, neverpull on the ropes of a tent, or meddle with any part of it. If you do, you can’t sleep in it with me, but will have to stay in the wagon with the girls.”
He picked him up and set him on a nearby stump.
“Now sit right here and think about what I have just said, while Desiré and I put the tent up again. Don’t move from the place, and watch how much extra work you have made for us when we are all so tired.”
After the tent was once more in place, Jack returned to René.
“Well, are you going to sleep in the tent or in the wagon?”
“In the tent. I won’t touch no ropes, nor nothin’ again, Jack,” promised the child, holding up his arms. “An’ I’m sorry ’bout making you and Dissy work when you’re all tired, ’n’ everything—”
“That’s a good boy,” replied his brother, carrying him off to bed for a second time.
“Goodnight, Desiré,” he said, returning to kiss her after René was disposed of. “If you’re timid, call me.”
“Yes, but, Jack dear,pleasedon’t lie awake to take care of us. We’ll be safe.”
Soon the grove was quiet. The moon rose higher and higher, and throughout the night kept benevolent watch over the four children sleeping heavily among the protective trunks of the old balsam trees. Little creatures of the night moved noiselessly over the dried needles on the forest floor so as not to waken the strangers within their midst; and a gentle breeze stole quietly in from the Bay to waft its pungent coolness over the tired travelers.
A couple of hours passed, the moon had left the woods partly in shadow. A dark figure was stealing carefully among the tree trunks, stopping every few minutes to listen.
Beyond a band of moonlight stood the little tent from which could be heard Jack’s loud breathing. Nearby was the wagon where all was silent, and from a dark spot beyond it the horses stamped restlessly. Skirting the habitations of the human beings, the figure made its way silently toward the animals. Then Dapple’s loud whinny sounded through the quiet wood, answered immediately by that of his mate.
“Get away from our horses!” shrilled Priscilla’s voice from the back of the wagon.
“What’s the matter?” shouted Jack, roused at once by the child’s cry.
“Prissy!” cried Desiré; “you—”
“Somebody’s bothering Dolly and Dapple, Jack!” called Priscilla.
By that time Jack had lighted a couple of lanterns, and he and Desiré were out in the open.
“Stay here and hold one of these,” he directed, “while I see what is wrong.”
The horses were straining at their tethers when he reached them, but quieted at once under familiar hands. Following an impulse, Jack presently led them out of the woods and into the little clearing where the wagon and tent were placed.
“Will they disturb you if I fasten them to this tree?” he asked Desiré.
“Not a bit—I—”
“Did you find anyone?” demanded Priscilla.
“Not a single person. I looked all around before I brought the horses out.”
“You had a bad dream, dear,” began Desiré, “and—”
“But I didn’t. I heard Dapple and Dolly holler just as plain, and they never do that unless somebody goes near ’em.”
Desiré looked questioningly at her brother, but he was busy tying the animals.
“Now,” he said firmly, when he had finished his task, “we’ll all go back to bed and right to sleep.”
He turned briskly into the tent where René still slept peacefully, and quietness once more descended upon the forest. Jack, however, looped up the flap of the tent and lay watching over his little family until the soft grey light of the early morning began to filter through the trees.
Several days later, one beautiful sunny morning, Dapple and Dolly were trotting briskly along the Shore Road toward Digby. For more than two miles this road winds along the shore of Digby Basin, formed by the Bay of Fundy waters flowing through a mile wide break in the North Mountain Range.
“That,” said Jack, pointing to the opening between the mountains, “is Digby Gap, or, as the natives call it, ‘Digby Gut.’ In olden days all the fishing boats used to stop there on their way home long enough for the fishermen to clean their fish, and throw all the ‘guts’ or insides into the water.”
“What a horrid name!” was Priscilla’s comment.
“It’s lovely here, though,” observed Desiré, gazing across the sparkling water to the hazy blue sides of the two big mountains opposite, and back again to the forested slopes beside the wagon.
“We must look out for the little shop the man told us about,” remarked Priscilla, to whom the scenery meant very little.
“Well, you watch for it, Prissy,” directed Jack. Then, turning to Desiré, “Didn’t we get a royal welcome in Sissiboo?”
“Yes; in spite of their disapproval, our old friends were wonderful to us; between the sales we made, and their generous donations, we certainly fared well.”
“Oh, Jack, there’s a bus!” cried Desiré delightedly a few minutes later. A big blue monster bore down upon them, and they had a glimpse of well-dressed people through its windows; then it was gone in a cloud of dust.
“Must be coming from the hotel,” commented her brother. “I understand there’s a big one up here somewhere above the town.”
“I’d love to ride in one of those,” said Priscilla, gazing longingly down the road after the now distant bus. “Wouldn’t you, Desiré?”
“Yes, I should. Perhaps some time we’ll be able to, but not now.”
They drove into the little town, and soon spied the shop of which they were in search.
“You go in and give the lady the message, Desiré,” said Jack, pulling up the team.
Desiré was inclined to be rather too retiring with strangers, and her brother thought she should begin to overcome her diffidence.
“Oh, Jack,” she cried, running out again a couple of minutes later, after delivering her message. “Who do you suppose keeps the shop? The lady who helped me find René on the steamer! It’s the most interesting place. Do come in and see it. She says we can look around as much as we wish.”
“I was going on for some more stock—we’re all out of crackers and a few other things—but you stay, if you wish; I’ll come back for you.”
“Don’t you need me?” she asked doubtfully.
“No; so look at as many things as you can before I get back.”
Desiré, with a happy “Thanks a lot,” ran back into the quaint little shop, while Jack drove on, thinking how sweet she was and how little time she had for herself or her own interests.
The morning was not a busy one at the shop; so the proprietress, a well-groomed New England woman, was free to devote her time to Desiré, to whom she had taken a fancy. Pleased to see that the girl was more interested in the pictures and books than in the foolish toys made to attract tourist trade, she took pains to call her attention to the best that the little store possessed.
“This is an interesting little account of the early history of this country and some of its settlers,” said Miss Robin, who was a teacher of history in one of the Boston schools, and whose mind naturally centered on her subject.
Desiré took the small blue-bound book in her hands and carefully turned its pages, reading bits here and there.
“Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed aloud.
“What is it?” inquired Miss Robin, looking up from a pile of picture postcards she was putting in order.
“The story of our own ancestors is told here.”
Miss Robin came to look over her shoulder and read:
“In the year 1744 when the question of Acadian loyalty to England resulted in the Expulsion, Jean Godet with Marie, his wife, and Desiré, his little daughter, were driven as exiles from Wolfville to the States. They settled near Boston, and some years later Desiré married one John Wistmore, a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins. When the Revolutionary War broke out, being loyal Royalists, they returned to Nova Scotia and took up farming in Wilmot, later removing to Sissiboo.”
“In the year 1744 when the question of Acadian loyalty to England resulted in the Expulsion, Jean Godet with Marie, his wife, and Desiré, his little daughter, were driven as exiles from Wolfville to the States. They settled near Boston, and some years later Desiré married one John Wistmore, a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins. When the Revolutionary War broke out, being loyal Royalists, they returned to Nova Scotia and took up farming in Wilmot, later removing to Sissiboo.”
“I have heard my father tell that same story so many, many times,” said Desiré, looking up at Miss Robin.
“They were really your ancestors, then?” asked that lady. “How very interesting.”
“But this last part he never told us,” continued the girl, indicating the closing words of the article.
“The ruins of the old Godet house near Wolfville may still be seen; for the site was never occupied for any length of time after the family was deported.”
“The ruins of the old Godet house near Wolfville may still be seen; for the site was never occupied for any length of time after the family was deported.”
“You must look it up if you ever go to Wolfville,” said Miss Robin.
“Oh, yes, indeed. We expect to get up there some time before winter comes, and I’ll surely hunt for the place.”
“Keep the little book,” urged Miss Robin, when Desiré, catching sight of Jack, laid the volume on the counter; “and if you come back before I go home, stop and tell me what success you had.”
“Maybe,” began Desiré, then stopped abruptly—she’d keepthatto herself; so she merely thanked Miss Robin warmly, and ran out to the wagon.
“I thought we’d have dinner at one of the little restaurants here,” said Jack, after she had displayed her treasure, “and then push on.”
From the counter of the lunchroom which they selected, they could see the long government pier with the lighthouse at the end; and beside it was moored one of the steamers which cross the Bay of Fundy to St. John, New Brunswick. René was greatly disappointed because they were not going aboard.
“The child’s passion for boats is rivaled only by his passion for Indians,” observed Desiré, as they left the lunchroom.
“He’ll see plenty of the latter at Bear River.”
Desiré looked questioningly at her brother.
“That is,” he replied, “if we get there in time for the Cherry Festival, day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, Jack, can we?”
“Going to try hard to make it.”
Clouds had been slowly gathering since noon, and about five o’clock great drops of rain hit the dusty road with little “plops.”
“Big drops; won’t last long,” prophesied Desiré; but Jack let down the curtains at the side of the seat, and drew out a rubber blanket to spread over their laps. Before they had covered two miles, the rain was coming down in earnest, and Jack turned off the road into the pine woods.
“Wonder if we can keep dry here,” he said, half to himself. “Can’t possibly get to the next town tonight.”
“We’ll have supper right away before the rain begins to come through the trees,” decided Desiré, jumping out.
The pine-covered ground was still dry, and it was very cosy under the thick boughs of the tall trees. The persistent patter of the rain and the murmuring of a brisk little breeze in the tree tops added to their sense of comfort and security.
“If it doesn’t rain any harder than this, we should be able to manage pretty well,” said Desiré encouragingly, as Jack peered anxiously skyward every little while.
Conversation turned upon the book Miss Robin had given Desiré, and then drifted to Nova Scotian history.
“I’m awfully stupid; but it seems to me such a hopeless jumble,” sighed Desiré.
“Maybe I can straighten it out for you by taking bare facts, and not going into detail at all,” said Jack. “Just think of it this way,” he went on. “About the year 1000 a man called Leif the Lucky came here from Iceland, found the country in the possession of the Micmac Indians, and left it to them.
“John Cabot touched here in 1497, and claimed the land for England. In 1606 Samuel de Champlain and some other Frenchman settled at Annapolis Royal, which they called Port Royal. A few years later the English destroyed it, and some of the inhabitants fled to the shores of the Basin of Minas and built the village of Grand Pré.”
“Oh, where Evangeline lived!” interrupted Priscilla.
“Yes, and where they all lived until 1747, that is, the French who were driven out of Port Royal.”
“And what made the English drive those people away from their homes?” inquired Priscilla. “I don’t mean from Port Royal, but from Grand Pré, like Longfellow tells about inEvangeline?”
“They thought the French people were not loyal to the British government; for the country then belonged to England. To go back to our story, in 1629 the King of Scotland gave the entire country to a friend of his, and the name was changed from Acadia to Nova Scotia, which means New Scotland. From that time until 1710 the land was claimed by both France and England, and was in possession of first one and then the other. Finally Great Britain secured it for good. Is it any clearer now?”
“Oh, yes, lots; you make everything so plain, I wish I knew as much as you do,” sighed Desiré admiringly.
“I hope some day you will know lots more,” smiled Jack, adding, “I’m afraid we’re in for a wetting. I have felt several splashes of rain. The trees are getting so heavy with water that it will shower down upon us before long.”
“Then you simply can’t sleep in the tent,” said Desiré decidedly.
“Nothing else for it; there’s no room in the wagon.”
“Let me think a minute,” said Desiré. “I have it! We’ll push the trunk and box side by side and put René on them, at our feet; and you can sleep on the wagon seat. You’ll have to double up, but it will be better than getting so damp in the tent.”
“We didn’t count on a pour like this while we were on the road,” said Jack. “Too bad we were not near enough to a town to get lodgings.”
“But we could hardly afford that; and besides, this is going to be lots of fun. Priscilla, you and René run up and down in that dry path over there while we fix things,” directed Desiré.
“The boughs will be too wet to use for beds,” said Jack, moving the trunk close to the box at the very back of the wagon.
“We’ll just spread the blankets on the floor, then,” declared Desiré, briskly.
“But you’ll be wretchedly uncomfortable,” objected her brother.
“Won’t hurt us a bit once in a while. I’ll hang this rubber blanket in front of the seat, and a sheet back of it; and with the side curtains down, and a blanket to spread over you, you’ll be fairly well off, won’t you?” she asked, working rapidly as she talked.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t bother about me.”
When everything was ready, they called the two children and settled down for the night.
“Don’t be frightened if you hear a noise once in a while,” said Jack, as they settled down; “for I shall have to turn around occasionally to stretch my legs.”
“Yes, poor boy; they are far too long for your bed tonight. I hope Renny won’t roll off the trunk; but if he does, he’ll fall on top of us and won’t be hurt.”
“Oh, let’s go—to—sleep—” yawned Priscilla.
“An excellent idea,” agreed Jack; and the little family lay quietly listening to the drip of the rain until they fell asleep.
All night long Desiré dreamed of papering the old Godet house, inside and out, with mysterious figures and letters, which fell off as fast as she pasted them onto it.
The sun was shining brightly as they drove down the hillside at Bear River the second morning after, and into the ravine where dyked lands border the river. Hundreds of cherry trees loaded with brilliant fruit were on every side, and on the water was clustered the craft of those who were to take part in the sports later in the day.
“What funny river banks,” commented Priscilla.
“The ground is below the level of the river,” explained Jack; “and the banks have to be built up of interlaced tree trunks filled in with clay to keep the water from running over the land. They are called dykes.”
“Indians!” cried René, full of excitement, pointing to a group nearby.
Already great numbers of them had come from a neighboring reservation for the games. Under the heavily loaded trees, people from far and wide wandered about, tasting first one variety of fruit and then another. Groups of tourists watched from the roadside, or took part in the feasting.
Jack found a safe place for the wagon, and, after locking it, took his little family to obtain their share of the cherries which are free to all on that particular day in mid-July each year. Shortly before noon, they carried their lunch to a shady slope from which they had a good view of the place where the sports were to be held. By two o’clock, the fun was in full swing. All kinds of races, on both land and water; throwing contests; log rolling tests; and games of skill or endurance. Anyone could take part, and Desiré urged Jack to enter some of them; but he preferred to remain a spectator. He loved all kinds of sports, and was perfectly fearless; but the chance of possible injury now, when he was the head of the family, kept him from taking part. The Indians were the most clever participants, and frequently won, much to René’s delight.
“The youngster sure likes the Indians,” observed a man who sat next to Jack. “Used to be scared of ’em when I was a kid. You ought to take him to the St. Anne’s celebration some time.”
“What’s that?” inquired Jack.
“Every year the Indians make a pilgrimage to the Island of the Holy Family, round the 21st of July, and live up there in birch bark tepees until after the feast, on the 26th.”
“What do they do?” asked Desiré, leaning forward to look at the narrator.
“Well, every morning they go to Mass and attend to all their religious duties, and very often there are weddings and First Communions. If there’s been any quarreling or disputing during the year, the differences are patched up. Then in the evenings they dance and play games.”
“What kind of games?” asked René, who was eagerly listening to every word.
“Oh, whinny, hatchet throwing, deer foot, wheel and stick, hunt the button—”
“Oh, I can play that,” interrupted René, with just satisfaction.
“It’s a sight worth going a distance to see,” concluded the man.
“I imagine so,” replied Jack; “but I’m afraid we won’t get there this year. I have old Simon’s traveling store this summer, and—”
“You have? Then you want to open it up when these games are over; for a crowd like this is almost always in need of some kind of supplies. Anyway, they’re sure to buy something, whether they need it or not.”
Jack acted on the suggestion, and made so many sales that when the people finally drifted homeward it was too late to go on that night. They put up in a woods just outside of the town, and after supper Desiré made a discovery that did not altogether please her.
“Did you know that some Indians are camped a little farther down the road?” she asked Jack.
“Yes. They may be on their way to the festival of St. Anne’s that the man spoke of this afternoon. I’m sure they’re quite harmless.”
“Oh, I want to see them!” exclaimed René, starting up.
With a quick move, Jack caught the end of the child’s blouse and prevented his departure.
“You’ve seen plenty of Indians today to last you for one while, young man. Besides, it’s your bedtime.”
“No! No!” wailed René, twisting in his brother’s grasp.
“He’s tired,” murmured Desiré sympathetically.
“Can’t act like this, even if he is,” said Jack firmly. “René, behave yourself or you’ll have to be punished.”
The tantrum showed no signs of abating; so Jack promptly picked him up and started for a nearby stream, much to his sister’s distress; though she never dreamed of interfering when Jack decided that disciplinary measures were necessary.
Upon reaching the brook, Jack held the boy securely and ducked him a couple of times. Since the purpose of the procedure was punishment, it was rather disconcerting to have the child’s tantrum cries change suddenly into squeals of delight.
“Oh, Jack,” he sputtered, “do it again. Ilovethe water.”
Even the serious Jack, in spite of his stern resolves, was quite overcome by the humor of the situation; so he decided to say no more about punishment. However, when he got back to the wagon, he rubbed the little fellow down and put him to bed, refusing Desiré’s assistance. He and Desiré enjoyed a good laugh over the incident when the younger children were safe in bed.
“Well, this time tomorrow night, I hope we’ll be in Annapolis Royal,” he said, shortly after; “and being a longish drive, I guess we’d better go to bed now.”
That interesting old town was not to see them on the morrow, however.
Jack was the first to waken on the following morning, much later than usual, and was surprised to find his tent mate gone. Peering out toward the wagon, he saw Desiré getting out of the back of it.
“Dissy,” he called, using René’s name for her.
“Yes? I was just going to waken you. I’m awfully sorry, but we overslept this morning—”
“Have you seen René?” he interrupted.
“No! Isn’t he with you?”
Desiré stood still, letting the pan which she had in her hand fall to the ground.