"I noticed a great deal of Philadelphia accent while we were waiting for our trunks at the station."

"Oh, don't mention it," replied Martine; "Philadelphians flock everywhere, and they are so cliquey that they just spoil a place for me, though I'll admit that they know a good thing when they see it."

"Be careful, Martine," cautioned Amy; "no more slang than you can help on this trip."

"'On this trip!' If that isn't slang I'd like to know what is."

"No matter now; here's the hotel; mail first and rooms afterwards."

In an instant Amy had hurried to the hotel office, returning to the others with a bundle of letters, which she gave to Priscilla to distribute while she went ahead with her mother to look at the rooms they had engaged. The hotel was like most small summer hotels, and in spite of their pleasant remembrance of Clare, Mrs. Redmond and the girls had to admit that it was more comfortable than the little French houses.

"'Pubnico!' why, of course;" here Amy stopped as she held the letter in her hand, turning it over once or twice as people will before opening a letter.

"Of course; don't hesitate to tell us that it's from Fritz. It would be very strange indeed if he had not written," cried Martine, mischievously.

"'Pubnico,'" said Priscilla, as if the word had just penetrated her brain; "why, there were two letters with that postmark, were there not?"

"Oh, no, only one," replied Amy, promptly, "and, as Martine surmises, it was from Fritz."

But while Amy was speaking Priscilla looked sharply at Martine, and Martine, as if uncomfortable under her gaze, suddenly left the room.

After dinner, as they all sat on the piazza, "Amy," said Mrs. Redmond, "you haven't told us yet how Fritz is enjoying his journey."

"Oh, he thinks he has found the only French in Nova Scotia. He describes their dress and their houses and their great fat oxen, and speaks of the misfortunes of the exiled Acadians as if he were an original discoverer.

How foolish he will feel when he finds that what he has seen is old news to us, for his description reads just like a description of Clare."

"Only I'll warrant that he didn't find any Madame Bourque," and Priscilla smiled.

"No, nor an Yvonne," added Martine.

"Not to speak of Pierre," concluded Amy.

"My letter from home," said Priscilla, "mentions that this was the hottest week of the season. Just think, only yesterday we were half frozen driving home in the fog from Church Point."

After breakfast, on their second morning at Digby, Mrs. Redmond and the girls walked the whole length of the tree-lined main street. As Martine had surmised, they had indeed arrived at a regulation summer resort. The holiday spirit prevailed on all sides; every one was going somewhere, or had just been somewhere, on pleasure bent.

In spite of her professed prejudice against Philadelphians, Martine almost fell into the arms of a former schoolmate from the Quaker City, who rushed out to greet her from the garden of a small hotel near the top of the hill.

"Isn't the view fine, and the air just perfect? I'm so glad you're here; there's something to do every hour of the day, and we shall be so glad to have you join us, you and your friends." And she glanced dubiously at Priscilla's mourning dress and serious face.

"Thank you, but I can't make plans just now. There are four in our party; the other two have walked ahead. We arrived only on Sat.u.r.day, and yesterday was so rainy that we stayed indoors until evening, when we all went to church. Until we really have our bearings I don't think that I can make any plans. But you must come to see us. There, I haven't introduced you to Priscilla; you must excuse me. Priscilla, the Rose of Plymouth, let me introduce you to Peggy Pratt from the quiet city of Philadelphia."

"You are the same old Martine," cried Peggy, as they turned away, while Priscilla, reddening, added as the two walked on, "Oh, Martine, how silly you can be!"

Amy was delighted with everything that they saw in the course of that morning walk, from the beautiful view of the Basin, surrounded by hills that looked mountains, to the little fish-houses, the quintessence of neatness, in front of which quant.i.ties of cod were drying. As to the Basin, when she said she felt as though she had seen it before, Mrs.

Redmond reminded her that it resembled closely the harbor of Santiago, with which she was familiar through pictures.

"Ah, yes," rejoined Amy, "and that little opening into the Bay of Fundy that they call 'The Gut' is like the pa.s.sage where Hobson tried to sink the Merrimac."

"It isn't such a very little pa.s.sage; somebody told me that it is nearly a mile wide; it was there that the ships of De Monts entered the Basin in 1604, when they discovered Acadia," Mrs. Redmond added.

"Sixteen hundred and four!" cried Martine. "Oh, dear, we're going backwards in our history. It was seventeen hundred and something when the Acadians were expelled, and I shall never be able to remember earlier dates."

"At present we may put dates aside. For a day or two we can merely enjoy ourselves."

"I hope we are coming to some English history," said Priscilla; "I am tired of the French. I always supposed Nova Scotia was a British province, but this whole week we have heard very little about the English."

"I tell you what we'll do, Priscilla," cried Amy; "while mamma and Martine sit here to make a sketch of something or other, you and I can set out in search of some English history. Undoubtedly there's an historic house or two to discover. That's the kind of thing I never let escape me."

At first it seemed as if Amy's search would be unsuccessful. One person after another whom she asked said that there were no historic houses in Digby.

"There's an old shop over across the way," one added, "the frame of which, they say, was brought out from England; I'll point it out to you, though it doesn't look very old."

This last statement was true enough, for the old house had been reshingled and reclapboarded and repainted, so that it retained hardly a vestige of antiquity in its appearance. To compensate Amy for her disappointment, the obliging native made a suggestion that in the end proved valuable.

"What you ought to do is to see Mrs. Sally Tatem; her house isn't much to look at, but it's old enough, and she knows more about the history of Digby than any one else here."

"Where does she live?"

"Oh, just a little way up that street and round the next corner and up the hill and you will see a little cottage at the end of the lane; just knock at the door, and if she's at home she'll be very obliging."

So Amy and Priscilla went "up the street and round the next corner and up the hill," and at "the end of the lane" they saw a small white cottage almost covered with vines. Amy's knock brought to the door a little old lady with silvery hair and a tiny ruffled cap, wearing a gray gown and, most important of all, a pleasant smile. The hesitation that Amy had felt in explaining the object of their visit disappeared under the old lady's greeting.

"Dear child, come right in; I'll tell you all the Digby history I know; but it isn't so very much."

As Amy sat down in the little sitting-room, she could not help looking about, and she was quick to recognize that the two chairs were Chippendale.

"They were brought by my grandfather," said Mrs. Tatem, noting the direction of Amy's glance. "He was a captain in the Queen's Rangers; you know many Americans were on the King's side in the Revolution."

A look of surprise crossed Priscilla's face, but she did not venture to raise a question.

"Yes," responded Amy, "I know about the Loyalists."

"Well, my grandfather was a farmer in Westchester County, rich and prosperous, but he would not take arms against the King. A friend and neighbor of his was tarred and feathered, and he was in some danger himself. So he went into the war, and when it was over he couldn't stay in New York. With other Loyalists he came down here. Of course it was very hard for him to have all his property taken away, but his wife was brave and she was willing to suffer."

"Who sent them away?" asked Priscilla, eagerly.

"Why, the Yankees,--the Americans, I mean," said Mrs. Tatem.

"The Patriots," whispered Priscilla.

"Yes, yes," interposed Amy.

"But," continued Priscilla, "I didn't know that there were two sides to the story." And as she said this the old lady smiled.

"We have no bitterness now. I ought not to have said 'Yankees.' I have many friends in the States, but it was hard for my mother and aunts to have to grow up in the wilderness. I used to hear my aunt talk. She was an older daughter."

"But how did they live here in those days?"