"At the time of the deportation," said Mr. Knight, as they took their places again in the carriage, "the water came much nearer the village.

Since the days of the Acadians thousands of acres of d.y.k.e-lands have been reclaimed. When the Connecticut settlers came they found many d.y.k.es broken, through which the sea was rolling in, and they might have had a hard time repairing them if they had not found a few Acadians still left in the country, who had managed to escape the English and were lurking in the neighborhood of their old homes."

"That reminds me," said Priscilla; "who were the Acadians, that is, where did they come from in the first place? I have never thought of this before."

"Why, Priscilla, they were--" then Amy stopped, not feeling quite sure of her ground.

"Oh, they were French, from--" and Martine could get no farther.

"Of course they were French, but why did they know so much about d.y.k.es and such things?"

When no one else seemed inclined to answer the question, Mr. Knight undertook to reply.

"The Acadians of Grand Pre, like the Acadians of Annapolis, were nearly all descended from a group of peasants from Roch.e.l.le, Pictou, and Saintonge, who came out with D'Aunay and Razilly about 1630. They came from a region of marshes, and they brought with them the art of building d.y.k.es. The _aboiteaux_ that they built were marvels, and before you go we must try to show you one of the d.y.k.es at low tide, when all the wonderful method of building will be displayed. Pierre Terriau, by the way, was the name of the first Acadian to settle in the Grand Pre region. He came to the sh.o.r.es of the Habitant in 1671. Others soon joined him. The people at Minas were so shut off from Port Royal that they grew very independent. Indeed, this desire to escape the close observation of those at the Fort was what sent Acadians from Port Royal to this new region. In time there were three parishes in Minas,--St.

Joseph, St. Charles, and Grand Pre,--and the people were like one great family, constantly inter-marrying, and always ready to help one another.

"'Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance,'

as your Longfellow says;" and Martine, had she been inclined, might have taken this as an apology for the disrespect she had imagined cast on her poet a little earlier.

But there was no time now to discuss either Longfellow or the Acadians.

Before the party stretched the broad d.y.k.e-lands, where already many farmers were cutting hay, while here and there were mammoth haystacks.

Priscilla snapped her camera at a hay wagon with a larger load than any she had ever seen, drawn by two of the heaviest, sleekest oxen; Amy made a few notes in her diary; Mrs. Redmond sighed for her palette and sketch-book; and Martine exclaimed loudly on the richness of color, the vivid green of the marshes, the unclouded blue of the sky, and the richer blue of the water, with a glimpse here and there of reddish sh.o.r.es, and above all Blomidon, the magnificent, showing up in the distance, like a veritable giant.

"Have you seen all that you care to see at Grand Pre?" asked Mr. Knight, politely, with a "Here, driver, draw up for a last look at Blomidon before we turn toward Avonport."

"How dark it looks now!" exclaimed Amy, pointing to the promontory.

"That is because the sun no longer shines on it," replied Mr. Knight "Listen to one of our poets:

"'This is that black bastion, based in surge, Pregnant with agate and with amethyst, Whose foot the tides of storied Minas scourge, Whose top austere withdraws into its mist.

"'Yonder, across these reeling fields of foam, Came the sad threat of the avenging ships.

What profit now to know if just the doom, Though harsh. The streaming eyes, the praying lips, The shadow of inextinguishable pain, The poet's deathless music, these remain.'"

"Have we seen all that we can see?" interrupted Martine, untouched by the poetical tribute to her Acadians. She was determined to show no appreciation of anything said by Mr. Knight.

"Have we seen all that we can see?" repeated Martine, adding with some sharpness, "I thought that there would be much more."

"Well, I am sure--" and Mr. Knight hesitated, "I am sorry--but there isn't so very much--you know all the Acadian houses were burnt, and it's just a modern village--the old Covenanter Church is perhaps the oldest thing--and you've seen the old well and the willows and the things that we point out to Americans."

"There it is!" thought Martine, "that same patronizing tone when he speaks of Americans."

"Oh, there is one thing," continued the unhappy young man, conscious now, as at all times, of Martine's disapproval, "I should have shown you the little ridge near the station where Colonel n.o.ble and one of his soldiers were buried, after that terrible fight in 1747. You remember the French had only seven killed to the one hundred English who were slaughtered."

"That was a cowardly attack," said Amy, warmly.

"But it was the real French, and not the Acadians, who were responsible," interposed Martine.

"Yet the Acadians helped--at least as guides."

"This pleasant country has certainly witnessed a great deal of tragedy."

Mrs. Redmond's voice was that of the peacemaker.

"Yet through it all Blomidon has remained there calm and placid." Up to this time Priscilla had had little to say.

"But Glooscap, the deity of the Micmacs," responded Mrs. Redmond,--"you remember that after the white men came to Minas, displeased with their teachings, he fled away, and has never been seen since.

"'You can see yourself Five Islands Glooscap flung at him that day, When from Blomidon to Sharp he tore the Beaver's dam away.

Cleared the channel, and the waters thundered out into the Bay.

Here he left us--see the orchards, red and gold in every tree!

All the land from Gaspereau to Portapique and Cheverie, All the garden lands of Minas and a pa.s.sage out to sea.'"

"Why, mamma, I never heard you quote poetry--at such length."

"Perhaps you thought that I couldn't, but this is a Canadian poet, and later you must read more of the myths grouped around Glooscap."

"Oh, I know that Blomidon was his home, and Minas his beaver-pond, and Spencer Island used to be his kettle that he tipped upside down when he deserted Acadia, and two rocks there in the Bay were once his dogs that he turned to stone at the same time. He never was cruel, never grew old, and was never to die, and so I suppose that the Indians are looking constantly for him to come back and restore their own to them."

"As to that," said the serious Mr. Knight, "the Indians in Nova Scotia are much better off than in the days of Glooscap. They may sit side by side with white children in almost all the schools of the country. Many of them live on land of their own, and raise live stock--though unluckily they prefer ponies to heifers, and in every way the government is fitting them for the full responsibilities of citizenship."

"Oh, dear," sighed Martine, laying her hand on Amy's and leaning forward so that those on the back seat might not hear. "What a regular schoolmaster he is! He is more improving even than you, Miss Amy Redmond. But listen--how much more appreciative is our dear Priscilla."

In spite of herself Amy could but smile as Priscilla's gentle voice came to her. "Thank you, Mr. Knight; the present condition of the Indians interests me very much, and I have made a note of what you have said to report at one of our Indian Aid a.s.sociation meetings when I return home," whereat the driver of their vehicle laughed, chuckled, and shook his head.

"I'd like to show her some specimen Micmacs," he said to Martine, "that come round here oftener than once in a while, and have some distance to travel before they are fully fitted for the responsibilities of citizenship."

"Now, ladies, a last look at Blomidon," cried Mr. Knight, as the carriage took a sharp turn, and then, after one long, backward look, they pressed on and drove westward toward Avonport.

"Dear Prissie," said Martine, when at last they stood on the broad beach, "you have been a very good girl to-day." Priscilla, reddening at her words, made no reply.

"Yes, you have been very good," continued Martine, "and when Mr. Knight recalls this afternoon he will remember with pleasure the close attention that you have given to his every word."

"Oh, Martine, how absurd you are; I never heard you talk so pompously before."

"This is the effect of a few hours spent with an eloquent guide, philosopher, and friend. Poor Amy is under the spell now; he seems to be teaching her geology."

Looking in the direction of the spot where they had left Mrs. Redmond and Amy, Priscilla saw that Mr. Knight was pointing at the stones with his walking-stick, as if they were diagrams on a blackboard.

"He is probably explaining the rock formation," said Priscilla, solemnly. "My guidebook says that the region has great geological interest."

"Then let us go off by ourselves somewhere, for if he gets the chance he will try to teach us all he knows, and really, I could not stand any more instruction to-day. Come, Prissie."

At first Priscilla hesitated.

"Do come; we'll have such a good chance to study those rocks and crags by ourselves."