"Oh, but there is much time; I have been in the States, and I like to talk to the strangers, so enter my garden at least, ladies, to taste of my cherries."

There was nothing to do but enter the garden. At the mention of cherries Yvonne indeed had seemed more willing to halt on her way to the hotel, and the others, as Placide thrust upon them liberal handfuls of his great crimson cherries, did not regret the delay.

"You are from Boston," he said, after Amy had mentioned her home. "Ah, I worked in Boston, that is, in Lowell, which was the same, and then I came home when I had saved enough to buy a house. It is not so gay here as in Lowell, but it is happier, and I can make a pleasanter living. I never did like the mill, but the pay was good."

"What do you do now, Mr. Placide?" asked Amy.

"Oh, I fish. The sea is good to us Acadians; it is better than the factory. One gets health here as well as fish, and fish enough to keep the house fed. So, with my potatoes and my cherries, I am rich." Then, with an afterthought,--"But I hope sometime that little Yvonne can go to Boston, where there is much music. She could study and be great singer, for the voice it needs teaching. I know that, because I have been in the States where people study so much."

The girls found it hard to leave Placide, for he was even more fluent than Alexandre, and his years in the States had given him a certain amount of information about things American, and he was evidently fond of displaying what he knew. But at last they managed to say good-bye, and continued their way down the road.

"I am tired," sighed Priscilla, as the four stood at the door of the little hotel.

"Then let us sit here on the piazza. Would this suit you, Yvonne?"

Yvonne turned toward Amy with a smile. "I like whatever the other ladies like; it is all good for me."

"Oh, yes," added Martine, "it will be great fun to sit here and watch the pa.s.sers-by. Things are rushing this afternoon; two persons are entering that shop across the way, and I can count three ox-carts and two buggies in sight. Where do you suppose the buggies are going?"

"Perhaps half a mile up the road; perhaps to Yarmouth. You know there is a continuous street along St. Mary's Bay, about forty miles from Yarmouth to Weymouth."

"One street forty miles long!" Amy's statement roused Priscilla from her lethargy.

"The young lady says true," interposed Madame, their landlady, who had stepped out on the piazza. "Forty miles, and all Acadians! Is it not marvellous that they have grown to be so much, when the English treated them so cruelly, long, long ago?"

"Ah, yes, Evangeline," responded Martine, politely.

"Evangeline never came back," said the literal Priscilla.

"That is true," a.s.sented the landlady. "But there is more than Evangeline to tell about. Little Yvonne here knows many tales."

Yvonne sighed softly. "Ah, yes, very many. But Evangeline lived not in Meteghan. Her country was Grand Pre, far north. You will go there, without doubt?"

"Yes, Yvonne, we shall spend a week there."

"There are not so many stories about Meteghan, for no one lived here until after the exile."

"I remember one," interposed Amy; "the story of Aubrey, who was lost in the woods. At least, some writers say that he was lost in the Meteghan woods, others that it all happened near Digby."

"Tell us the story, Amy, and we can decide for ourselves where it was."

"How like Martine!" thought Priscilla, "as if a girl could decide where to place an historic event!"

"After all," continued Amy, "it's only a little story, but it tells of something that happened on that first expedition to St. Mary's Bay, when De Monts brought his vessels here in 1604, and Champlain named this stretch of water, as he named so many other places. One member of the expedition was Aubrey, a priest, with an intelligent love of nature. A small party went off from the vessel to look for ore along the sh.o.r.es of St. Mary's Bay. The priest was one of the number, but when the boat was ready to return he could not be found. He had left his sword in the woods, and had gone back to look for it. For four days the others searched for him without success, and suspicion fell on one or two Huguenots in the party, in whose company he was last seen. With one of them he had had some rather violent discussions on religious matters. To the credit of all, however, no harm was done to the Huguenots in spite of the suspicion. After sailing without Aubrey, the party went farther north, and it was nearly three weeks before they returned to the neighborhood where he had disappeared."

"Did they find him?" asked Martine, somewhat impatiently. Amy was to learn that Martine's temperament led her always to desire the climax almost before she had heard the story itself.

"Yes, they found him; for when they were some distance from sh.o.r.e they saw something that looked like a flag waving. A boat was sent out, and to the delight of those who went in it, they saw that the flag was a handkerchief tied to a hat on a stick, that the missing Aubrey was holding to attract their attention. Looking for his sword, the good priest had missed his way, and for seventeen days he had wandered in the woods, living on berries and roots."

"How delighted he must have been to see his friends!"

"Not more delighted than they to see him; for had he not been found, the consequences for the suspected Huguenots might have been serious."

"It is Yvonne's turn to tell us a story," said Martine, "but we all need to rest before tea, and I want to tell your mother about the quilts. If she disapproves of my buying so many--"

"I suppose that you will send them back;" Amy's tone contradicted her words.

"Oh, no; I will not send them back. But I do wonder what I shall do with them."

Yvonne and Martine went indoors, and Amy and Priscilla soon followed.

Amy prepared her mother for Yvonne by telling her all that they had learned about the little girl.

"I won't discourage Martine's altruism," said Mrs. Redmond. "Her impulsiveness in the past has sometimes led her into trouble, but Martine herself will be benefited by having this warm interest in another. As to the quilts, though we cannot carry them about with us, they can be easily expressed home, and the duty will not be large."

After tea the whole party sat in the little parlor, to listen to Yvonne.

Her first two or three songs were without accompaniment. They were plaintive songs with French words, and unfamiliar to the Americans who were listening. But a chance question revealed the fact that Yvonne was also familiar with much music that Amy knew well. Thereupon Martine suggested that if Amy would improvise some accompaniments Yvonne might be heard to even better advantage. So Amy, seated there at the melodeon, played, and Yvonne continued to sing, and some of the music was rendered with a dramatic power that surprised all who listened.

"Ah, she will be great some day," said the landlady, listening enraptured to the bird-like tones. "How it had pleased her poor mother to know that she was to be a singer!"

While Yvonne sang, various plans were rushing through Martine's busy brain. "Yvonne shall have a parlor organ, Yvonne shall have teachers, Yvonne shall have her eyes examined by a good oculist. Evidently she is not blind,--not really blind."

While she was thinking and planning, her eyes never left the face of the little French girl, held there by the wonderfully happy expression which lit it. Yvonne's wide, brown eyes, her half-parted lips, the little brown tendrils curling around her forehead, all combined to make a picture that impressed itself strongly on all in the room. Moreover, the gentle and una.s.suming manner of the young singer, as she received the praise showered on her, completely won the hearts of all. Or perhaps it would be more nearly true to say that if Priscilla's heart was not completely won, she at least had begun to see some reason in Martine's infatuation.

"Is it not wonderful?" asked Martine of Mrs. Redmond.

"She certainly sings remarkably well--for a little girl."

Martine looked up quickly at Mrs. Redmond. Was the latter able to find some flaw in what she herself considered altogether perfect? She had no time just then to question her, for Yvonne herself might overhear the reply, and besides, the young girl was about to sing again, and Martine could not spare a note.

When at last the tall figure of Alexandre Babet appeared in the doorway, they knew that the music must end, and with a protracted farewell from Martine, Yvonne and her adopted father started for home before nine o'clock.

"Yvonne did not seem as much overcome by the grandeur of the hotel as Alexandre prophesied," remarked Amy, as the girls went upstairs.

"Yvonne would never be overpowered by anything," responded Martine; "I don't believe she'd be surprised by the Auditorium."

Whereat both Amy and Priscilla laughed loudly. "To compare small things with great," said Priscilla, "of course she wouldn't be impressed by this hotel. Why, it's smaller than a summer boarding-house."

"I wonder what Alexandre meant?" mused Martine.

"Oh, it was only his way of trying to make you think that you were doing Yvonne a great favor by asking her here," responded Amy.

"Yes, the French way of pretending that things are what they are not,"

added Priscilla, as if the word "French" comprised the very essence of deceit.

"Take care," retorted Martine. "I never dared tell you before, but I had a French great-great-grandmother."

Although Priscilla made no reply to this, her inward comment was, "That accounts for many things that have made me wonder."