"This," he began, "is sometimes incorrectly called an Acadian church."

"Does he mean to snub me?" whispered Martine to Priscilla.

"Yet it is merely an old Scotch church," continued Mr. Knight, "built about a hundred years ago. A service is held here two or three times a year, but the building receives no great care, and, as you can see, even some of its windows have been broken by mischievous boys."

"Such as Balfour Airton?" suggested Martine. But Mr. Knight took no notice of her flippant criticism of his previous remark about Balfour.

"It is like a New England meeting-house," said Amy, with a tinge of disappointment, as they looked inside the old building, noting its high pews, and sounding-board, and unadorned walls. Then, as she saw Martine standing apart from the others, she remembered the words that she had meant to say to her. So, drawing near, she took the young girl's hand in hers. Martine looked up at her with a smile.

"I know that you have a scolding tucked away somewhere, but I just won't let you give it to me. It won't do me the least little bit of good, and you wouldn't waste even a scolding, would you?"

"Oh, Martine, you are incorrigible; you surely realize that you need at least a reproof. Mother would give it to you if she had heard."

"Mrs. Redmond is too sensible to overhear disagreeable things."

"Very well, Martine; but tell me honestly, wouldn't you prefer to sit with mamma? She always has a soothing effect on you."

"That would bring me beside Mr. Knight. No, thanks. Surely, Amy, you realize how ridiculous he is, talking in that patronizing way of Balfour, who is a whole head taller than he."

"You forget, my dear child, that if he were not a great friend of Balfour's we should not have had the pleasure of his escort this afternoon. He is certainly most kind in taking all this trouble."

"I'll admit that he is very kind, though I dare say that we could have found our way around without him. But he is ridiculous, isn't he, with his walking-stick, and his English accent in an out-of-the-way place like this?"

"As Wolfville has always been his home, Mr. Knight probably feels that he has the right to a walking-stick or an English accent. If he had a French accent you would perhaps make greater allowances for him. But for the sake of peace, if you don't object, I'll have Priscilla change places with you. If you overhear anything you dislike, you may vent your anger on me. I do not wish Priscilla to be a victim."

"A victim! She doesn't realize that she is a victim now. Just look at her. She is hanging on every word that Mr. Knight utters--and it's all on account of his English accent."

CHAPTER XVI

EVANGELINE'S COUNTRY

"I will admit that what he is saying is perfectly true."

"And absolutely necessary, Martine, to our understanding properly this land of Evangeline."

"But he needn't talk so conceitedly, as if he were the only one in the world who knows that there was no real Basil, nor Gabriel, and that Evangeline herself was somebody else. Why, even in Chicago, where we are farther away from Acadia than you are in Ma.s.sachusetts, we know that.

But just listen,"--and as Martine and Amy stood there in silence a few feet from the willows, they heard Mr. Knight's rather shrill voice saying:

"I am aware that you Americans have mapped out almost every inch of Grand Pre, and that you can point out the site of Basil's smithy, and Gabriel's house, and the old church, although as a matter of fact only the last is at all certain. It is quite natural that you should accept your Longfellow as real history, but--"

Here Martine could restrain herself no longer. Stepping forward she faced Mr. Knight, who stopped talking in his surprise at her sudden appearance from the background; and in a clear voice she began to recite:

"'with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.

Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.

Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and cas.e.m.e.nt.'

Isn't that history," she asked gravely, "as well as Longfellow?"

"Why, yes, in a general way," responded Mr. Knight, with an amused smile. "As to details, why, I am not quite so sure, though I can a.s.sure you I have no intention of questioning Mr. Longfellow's accuracy. Far from it. His picture of the deportation is wonderfully complete."

"Yet you were criticising him."

"Oh, no, only the tendency of some tourists to connect everything in the neighborhood of Grand Pre with something mentioned by Longfellow."

"But if it makes the place more interesting," began Martine.

"Oh, certainly, that is one of the uses of poetry, and really, Miss Stratford, I intended no criticism of 'Evangeline,' only--" and again that smile of amus.e.m.e.nt--"you will pardon me when I say that these are not Evangeline's willows, as some call them, except in the poetic sense."

"They are very picturesque," said Amy, in an effort to turn the conversation. "Until I came to Nova Scotia I had never thought of willows as so strong and st.u.r.dy. In fact, I had in mind only the weeping variety."

The line of willows, a dozen or so beside the rail fence, with two or three cows grazing in their shade, formed a picture so tempting that Priscilla turned her camera upon it, and with a wave of her hand pointed to something beyond. In a minute or two Mrs. Redmond and Amy were beside her, with Mr. Knight and Martine but a step behind.

"Shall you object if we call this Evangeline's well?" asked Martine, with a touch of scorn in her voice.

"Ah, call it what you please, Miss Stratford. It is certainly an old French well. Evangeline may have drunk from it."

"Is it quite safe to drink from an old well?"

"Oh, mamma, you are not usually so anxious."

"I can a.s.sure you, Mrs. Redmond, that this is pure water. The wall was built a few years ago, and you will find the water deliciously cold.

This well, by the way, is probably near the site of the priest's house;"

and involuntarily he glanced toward Martine.

"Oh," she rejoined, as if in answer to his glance, "I thought that there was no priest--except in the poem."

"Ah, surely there had been a priest, though not Father Felician; and indeed at the time of the deportation the priest was away from Grand Pre, a prisoner at Halifax, and so he could not exhort the people. But these are mere matters of detail. Undoubtedly we are now standing very near the site of the church."

"I wonder if the bells are hidden in the earth like those we heard of at Annapolis," and Amy turned to Martine with a smile, hoping to divert her from quizzing Mr. Knight.

"Ah, the bells!" exclaimed the offending young man. "There is a story--if you should care for it."

"By all means," replied Mrs. Redmond; and under the embarra.s.sing gaze of four pairs of eyes Mr. Knight told his tale.

"It isn't a remarkable story in any way, only they say that when the Acadians saw that they were prisoners, some of them managed to take down the bell and wall it up in one of the vaults under the church, while the church treasure was put in the other. Years afterwards, in the days of the English settlers, a strange vessel was seen in the Basin one night.

People who pa.s.sed this way thought they heard queer noises during the night, and in the morning the ground near the site of the old church was disturbed. Some people said that in the night they had heard a bell ringing. That night there came a terrible storm, and soon bits of wreckage drifted in that must have come from the strange vessel. In this way every one believed that the theft had been avenged--if the strangers stole the bell and the treasure. It is only fair to say," continued Mr.

Knight, "that some believe that the bell was taken by returning Acadians who wished to set it up in an Acadian chapel on the Gaspe coast. At any rate, there are people still living who have heard their parents say that at certain times they can hear the distant ringing of this Grand Pre bell."

"How weird!" cried Martine. "Are there any more stories like that? I love them."

"Oh, there are some others connected with buried treasures, but an evil fate was usually supposed to attend those who grew suddenly rich by unearthing Acadian treasure; and there are tales of ghostly fires on St.

John's eve; and other stories used to trouble me very much when I was small and had to pa.s.s lonely places in the night."

"Oho," thought Martine, though she said nothing, "then it is as I thought; he is easily scared."