The big steamer RichelÎeu was moored at the docks below the historic city of Quebec at seven o'clock the next morning. Tourists were allowed to remain in their staterooms until eight o'clock if they chose and breakfast was furnished on board. But Monsieur Tremblent and Oisette were early risers and were among the first to walk down the gangplank, attend to their luggage and depart for the upper town, where Grandmother Tremblent would have a good breakfast of bacon and eggs ready for her guests.

They did not drive up the steep hills in a calÊche, nor did they take the trolley, for Monsieur Tremblent knew of a short cut; he could reach his mother's home more readily by walking one block in the lower town and then taking an elevator, which runs right up the side of the cliff and deposits its passengers on the Terrace, where the beautiful ChÂteau Frontenac stands.

Already Oisette felt as though she were walking in the pages of history: for she knew well the story of Samuel de Champlain, who had founded this city so long ago. How he made friends with the Algonquins and listened to their stories of rivers and lakes and boundless forests, and how with them as allies he led the French in many wars against the Iroquois, the most bloodthirsty of all Indian tribes; how he bore the welfare of his colony upon his heart to the very end, dying upon Christmas Day in 1635. He was buried close beside Fort St. Louis, which is now the site of the beautiful hotel, the ChÂteau Frontenac. This hostelry often shelters nowadays ten times the number of people who made up the population of New France, as Canada was called in the days when it was governed by the brave Champlain.

Think of it! At that date six white children represented young Canada, and Madame de Champlain had scarcely any companions of her own sex, save the three serving women who had come with her from France.

When the elevator deposited Monsieur Tremblent and Oisette Mary at the top of the cliff, a short flight of steps brought them to the Champlain monument, and here they paused to get the wonderful view of the St. Lawrence as it widens to the sea. Here Monsieur Tremblent had a fine opportunity to point out to his little girl many things of interest; on the opposite shore was Levis, and from there one gets a trolley along the river bank to the station where one can see the wonderful new bridge, which has the largest span in the world, and which crosses the river at such a height that the largest boats from over the ocean can sail beneath it.

The tin roof and spire of a great church rises on that bank also. It is the parish church of St. Romauld; this church contains very lovely mural paintings done by an Old World artist some seventy-five years ago. A wealthy priest spent all the money left by his mother's estate in importing a young artist who had just won a grand prize in Paris, and entertained him as his guest for three years, until the work was done, and his paintings are growing more mellow and beautiful as the years pass. Monsieur Tremblent had, as a small boy, been an acolyte in that very church, and so little Oisette gazed with rapture at the roof shining like a diamond in the morning sunshine.

Goodness knows she was hungry when Madame Tremblent's house, situated on the Grand Alley, was reached; she found that her grandmother, whom she had not seen for several years, had grown smaller and thinner and wore a black lace cap on her head, but that her eyes were as bright as ever, and she had such a happy contented smile of welcome for her son and her granddaughter, whom she kissed on both cheeks.

During the morning Oisette unpacked her belongings, and became accustomed to the tall, narrow, stone house, with its long flights of narrow stairs, its tall, narrow windows; a house where one had breakfast in the basement, with windows on the street level, and received one's visitors in a salon upstairs, a very grand room with lofty ceilings and heavy cut glass chandeliers that tinkled when any one walked heavily in the room above.

To go to her bedroom she had to climb another long flight of narrow stairs. But here, again, the view was so wonderful that she forgot to be homesick.

Her grandmother owned a marvelous big black cat with yellow eyes that answered to the name of Napoleon, and also a dog, another Carleau by the way, old and feeble now, sleeping most of his time away, but he managed to wag his tail slowly when he heard little Oisette Mary's voice.

In the sitting-room, which was bright with red curtains, flowered walls and much fancy work of colored worsteds, there was a very yellow canary in a very bright clean cage.

This bird had a very shrill little note that made one's ears flutter, and he sang from the time the church bell rang for early mass until nightfall. Sometimes when he became too shrill, Madame would take off her black apron and hang it over the top of the cage and bid the warbler to "marche a couchÉ."

Oisette was very much amused at this camouflage. "It is the daylight saving bill for the pauvre oiseau," she explained to her father.

Monsieur Tremblent had much business to attend to on this trip, but he managed to have Oisette go with him to the Falls of Montmorency, where the river of that name takes a leap of two hundred and fifty feet and joins the St. Lawrence; and to visit the Duke of Kent's house. The Duke of Kent was the father of Queen Victoria of England, and about the house are growing the most lovely old-fashioned flowers. Then, one Sunday afternoon, they took a long ride on the trolley and visited the shrine of St. Anne de BeauprÉ. Even before they left the tram car, Oisette espied the stone basilica on the top of a very pretty green hill, and as they entered the village the chimes were ringing a processional and a number of cripples thronged through the pillared vestibule. This shrine is world famous and sufferers have come one thousand miles sometimes, to wait, like those of old in Bible days, for the moving of the waters.

When they were finally allowed inside the church Oisette gazed in awe at the pillars covered with cast-off crutches, which faithful pilgrims have left behind them as they have gone forth healed. Then she walked slowly down the church aisle with her father and saw the great statue in gold of the good St. Anne herself, and they were shown by the priest a sacred relic. This is a small glass box and in it rests a bone which the faithful believe is the wrist bone of the dead Saint Anne herself. St. Anne was, you see, the mother of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Little Oisette knelt beside her father, and each was allowed to kiss the glass which held this relic. Doing this made them both feel very happy and good.

The history of this shrine of St. Anne de BeauprÉ goes back almost to the time of Samuel de Champlain himself. A traditional account of its foundation relates that some Breton mariners being overtaken by a very violent storm on the great St. Lawrence river knelt in their boat and prayed to the good St. Anne, and vowed to her a sanctuary if she would bring them safe to shore.

Their prayers were heard, the wind drove them ashore. So, high on this hill, they raised a little wooden chapel at Petit Cap and while they were engaged in its construction one of the men became the subject of the first miraculous cure. He was badly crippled with rheumatism, but as he worked on the building the pains all left him. Presently other cures followed and the shrine became renowned for miracles. It has been known for two and a half centuries. In that period it has been rebuilt many times over. The shrine that Oisette visited was built in 1886 and since that date has had over one hundred thousand pilgrims come every year to its healing altars.

Now, every one does not get cured. Some who are brought there on beds stay week after week, trying so hard to get help. Others are cured after just one visit, and go away so very grateful and happy.

Oisette and her father went through a museum at the rear of this "L'eglise de la bonne St. Anne," and saw, carefully put away in glass cases, the most wonderful jewelery—watches, rings, bracelets—left behind by visitors who had been helped, and who wanted to leave some expression of their gratitude. Just what good such baubles can do is a puzzling question. But the wanting to give them is what counts, isn't it?

One morning shortly before their return home, Monsieur Tremblent had business at the ChÂteau Frontenac, so he told Oisette if she would wait for him on the Terrace, he would afterward take her to see the Citadel, and then they would have a view of the Plains of Abraham.

This Terrace, known as Dufferin Terrace, is a lovely spot. There is a band concert about ten-thirty every morning, and the people walk up and down and laugh and chat. There are always children playing out in this sunny spot, watched over by nurse maids, or fond mammas. There are always many tourists who come and go from the ChÂteau, whose great doors open on this historic spot. So, for a long time, Oisette was contented to sit quietly on a bench and hear the music and watch the crowds. Mingling with the civilians were a good many soldiers and blue jackets, for there were several big ships at anchor in the harbor below.

Oisette didn't care for soldiers. You see, she belonged to a peace-loving people, and to her the greatest honor which could come to her family would be to have a sister a nun, or a brother a priest. But soldiers were men who killed people, and she couldn't understand why the throng on the terrace treated these uniformed visitors with such respect.

Presently a little girl about her own age, who was dressed all in white, and carrying a white and red parasol, came and sat down on her bench and smiled at Oisette. "Hello! aren't you the melon child?" she said. Oisette almost fell off from the bench in surprise. But she managed to nod her head. "Don't you remember me? I knew you at once. We have often gone out to your place after melons, but they said you were away at a convent. Did you run away from the convent? I am sure I should." As she talked, the newcomer moved along and held her parasol over Oisette's head.

This kindly act warmed our little Quebec cousin's heart. "Oh, no," she said, "I love the convent and the good sisters, but I am here visiting my grandmother."

"We are here," said the child, "with all the family, to stay until my brother Reggy sails away with his regiment. He is in camp now at Valcartier and we ride out to see him almost every day in the motor. I'll take you if you like, some day."

French Canadian children are seldom rude, and to say to this little Canadian girl who adored soldiers, that she, Oisette, didn't like them, would be awkward. At this moment the band struck up "God save the King" to mark the close of its morning concert; and the little visitor closed her parasol with a snap, stood at attention, and sang in her childish treble:

"God save our gracious King,[2]
Long live our noble King,
God save our King.
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us.
God save our King."

And when that was over, Oisette saw her father approaching, so she hoped she would not have to say that she didn't care much about a ride to Valcartier. But little Miss Sage had no idea of forsaking Oisette; she was too delighted to find some one from home. So she also greeted Mr. Tremblent with joy.

"Oh!" she said, "are you going to the Citadel in one of those funny calÊche things? I am crazy to ride in one. I want to go in one that has a yellow lining. Father says I would look like a fried egg if I got into one of that color." Monsieur Tremblent had always liked this little girl when she visited his farm, so he said: "If you will get permission from your people, you shall ride with us this morning. We will be three fried eggs."

While Monsieur Tremblent was making a bargain with a calÊche driver, little Helen Sage was rushing about the Hotel Frontenac to find some of her family and leave word with them where she was going. At last, having found all the bedrooms empty, she went to the desk and wrote on a telegraph blank,—"Have gone to the Citadel with the Melon family. Yours, Helen." This she tucked under her mother's bedroom door, and with a light heart skipped out to join her little friend.

When you come to think of it, both these little girls are little Quebec cousins, so it is like having two heroines to a story! Oisette knew well the early history of this wonderful walled city. The French achievements, and the names of the early Jesuits who suffered and worked among the Indians. And Helen Sage knew well the English side of the story: how General Wolfe had climbed with his army up the steep cliff and surprised Montcalm on the Plains of Abraham and captured all of Canada for the English. So Monsieur Tremblent found it very interesting to listen to their comments as they walked about inside the picturesque Citadel. Helen knew the age and history of the chain gate by which they entered. She knew, too, which of the cannon had been captured by the British at Bunker Hill. She patted it and said: "It is the nicest cannon here, isn't it? Father says, 'They have the hill but we've got the cannon'!"

The result of this trip was very interesting. Helen insisted on taking Oisette in their motor the next morning all over the city of Quebec, until she knew every bit of it externally. The St. Louis Gate, named by Cardinal Richelieu after his Royal Master, Louis XIV of France; the Dufferin Gate, named from one of the earlier Governor Generals of Canada, the Earl of Dufferin, a most popular Irishman, who helped blend the two nationalities in a wonderful manner. A fascinating old curiosity shop in an old house that was once the town house of the Duke of Kent. She pointed out all the tablets and the headquarters and the graves of the famous warriors of olden times. And, in her turn, Oisette took Helen to see "Notre Dame des Victories," the oldest church in this country, built as Champlain directed. She showed her the sign of the Golden Dog, and read to her the inscription:

"Je suis un chien qui ronge l'os
En le rongeant je prends mon repos,
Un jour viendra, qui n'est pas venu,
Que je mordrai qui m'aura mordu."

Translated this reads:

"I am the dog that gnaws his bone
I crouch and gnaw it all alone,
A time will come, which is not yet,
When I'll bite him by whom I'm bit."

There is a tablet in gold on a plain bare frontage. A dog gnawing a bone, the dog is couchant (lying down), the bone is that of a man's thigh-bone! Madame Tremblent had told Oisette the interesting legend of Le Chien D'or. It had its origin in the mercenary practices of the last Intendant of Quebec under the French rÉgime—Intendant means a "City Manager" of modern times. This wicked one's name was Bigot. At a time when food was very scarce indeed, and ships from France bringing provisions to her colony were delayed by wind and weather, Bigot gathered from poor farmers all the grain and food stuffs he could lay hands on and stored them in a building close to his palace, and when the time was ripe and a famine at hand he planned to sell back all this food to the poor farmers who had raised it, and to charge them a very big price. The building where he stored all his goods became known as La Frippone—"The cheat."

Now, among the merchants of Quebec at that time was a man named Nicholas Jaquin, he was rich and yet he was generous. He had also a great warehouse on top of Mountain hill, where the Quebec post office now stands. He decided also to gather grain and foodstuffs and to sell them at the lowest possible price to the poor. Naturally, when the Intendant found he was being undersold he was very angry, he tried in every way to punish his enemy, who over his door put this sign of the Golden Dog, and the people all understood, but were afraid to show too much sympathy, as Bigot had been appointed by the King of France.

Finally, the Intendant caused his enemy to be slain in the streets of Quebec—the actual assassin escaped for a time, but the murdered man's son tracked him to far off Pondicherry and struck his father's slayer down—the story ends there.

They also visited the Ursuline Convent, which has associations artistic and martial as well as religious.

There is a votive lamp, lighted one hundred and seventy years ago by two French officers, who came to attend the ceremony of their two sisters taking the veil, which means that these young ladies became nuns and never lived outside the convent walls again.

That lamp was to be kept burning forever—it was out for a short time during the siege of 1759; then it was relighted, and for well over one hundred years was never dimmed.

This chapel also contained paintings sent over from France for safe keeping at the time of the French Revolution; and generally supposed to be by great artists, such as Vandyke and Campana; but even though they may be but copies they are very well worth seeing.

The great General Montcalm was taken to this convent to die, and was buried within the precincts in a grave dug for him by a bursting shell.

They also went to the Champlain market and to the Convent of the Good Shepherd, where the nuns dress always in white, and never cease their prayers day nor night; every six hours they change vigils, but always, always, there are some of them there before the altar, and one each side of the steps of the high altar.

Grandmother Tremblent took a great interest in this friendship, though she did not always appear in person she directed many of the excursions and answered all of Oisette's questions.

The very first day Oisette arrived she had asked about Richelieu, and almost every day thereafter she had learned some new fact; she had a good memory, and when she got back home she would remember to tell her mother about the great boat by which she had traveled, and the picture, life-sized, of the Cardinal in his red robes, who had been Minister of State during the reign of King Louis XIV of France; in fact Grandma had said he was the true founder of the city of Quebec, for in 1627 he had revoked the Charter of De Caen, a Huguenot merchant, and had organized a company of one hundred associates, himself the head. The colonists were to be given lands and were to send all their furs to France and France was to send food to them, so that they would not have to do much farm work, but made fur peltries their sole industry. It was a niece of the great Cardinal Richelieu who by her charity and her gifts founded some of the early societies that existed in the city of Quebec.

On the last day of Oisette's stay with her grandmother, Helen Sage came for tea in this quaint old house and admired Napoleon, the canary and the fancy work. She was pleased, too, with the quaint old furniture; a prie-dieu chair in Oisette's bedroom particularly took her fancy, the seat of this chair was very low, not more than a foot from the ground, and when lifted up revealed a little shelf for devotional books, and a devout person could kneel on this seat, facing the back of the chair, and the top of the chair back was made flat and wide to hold the open book.

In the dining-room was a beautiful mahogany sideboard. "Oh, please, has it a history?" asked Helen. "It is very ancient, my child," Madame answered. "In fact it was for years stored in my grandfather's barn under some hay, left there by an English officer who was recalled home. He told my people that some day he would come for it, but he never did, and at last the old barn was to be torn down, so my father gave the furniture to me."

There was also a glass cupboard, and desk, but all that Madame was inclined to say about them was that they were ancient—very ancient.

Some years ago, collectors of the antique went thoroughly over the Province of Quebec, and, where it was possible, purchased the best examples of furniture and china and ornaments, which had been brought from France by the old RÉgime. The furniture of that day was the most magnificent of all the French period. A few examples of the work of Andrew Boule found their way to the New World. He was the King's Cabinet Maker and was a great ebonist (a worker in ebony) inlaying his work, gilding it, bronzing it—anything to make it very splendid.

When tea was over, Grandmother Tremblent told them the story of Madeleine VerchÈres. Most of the historians and the novelists and the poets of Canada have told and retold this true tale of a little French Canadian girl of fourteen, who was left one summer day with her two brothers in the care of two soldiers and one old man, while her father, the Seigneur of VerchÈres, journeyed to Quebec.

Madeleine was out on a hillside gathering wild strawberries when she heard a shot ring out far down the valley and going to the top of the hill her young eyes could see a band of Iroquois riding swiftly over the plain toward her father's fort. So she sent the two soldiers to the block house to guard the women and children of the estate, then she and her brothers under cover of the dusk prepared dummies and placed them behind the walls; then, to further deceive the savages, she and her brothers patroled the fort through the night and called out "C'est bien," (All is well) so that the Iroquois supposed the fort to be fully garrisoned, and though they lingered about for a time they did not dare attack.

The next morning her father returned, and having learned that savages had been through the valley, brought a party of soldiers with him, expecting to find his home in ruins and his children kidnapped; instead of that a tired, hungry group of children greeted him with "C'est bien."

"So, you see, heroism was not confined to the men alone," said Grandmother Tremblent. "It was as it is now in modern days, the women and even young girls who must be very brave."