  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:
“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.
“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 keep that to 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 in Evangeline?” “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. I love the 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. |
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