"It is just a joy to see you when I think it out. The long ago is only like yesterday. Just to think that the first white woman's face I should see in four months should be that of the little rosy-faced darling that I dangled in my arms and round my neck twenty long year ago. Ah, there comes Latimer agin!" And her face hardened. "What does he want now, I wonder? Why can't he let us be?"

CHAPTER XXV.

The woman went out to interrogate her husband, and Helen returned to her writing, but in a few minutes Latimer came in again.

"Is them letters you are at?" he asked, as she folded a sheet and slipped it into her reticule.

"Yes," she replied. "I hope to send them away when the lake opens."

"Your post will be long in going," he said, wagging his head. "It may take a month to clear the ice off the bay, and there ain't a single post-office anywheres this side o' Little York, and being as the Yankees fight well on the lakes, it might be dangerous to send letters that way even when they was open."

"Letters will keep," replied Helen, serenely, "And the Americans cannot always have it their own way."

"I didn't say they could; only what you have writ down will be an old story before you get it off your hands."

"Old stories are said to be the best, you know."

"So I've heerd. It's none of my bizness, anyhow, an' as I tell my old woman, you can do as you durned please."

He threw back his head and cackled in apology for his rudeness, while Helen folded her tablets and put on her wraps to go out. The hazy sun was still an hour high. On the hill she could see her future home, with walls up and rafter poles in place, and not far from it sounded the "yo-heave" of the men who, with long pikes, were raising the logs of the larger building.

Gathering up her skirts to keep them out of the melting snow, Helen hastened over to the scene. Harold was superintending the men on one side as she joined him.

"That'll be our new home, sweetheart," he said, nodding toward the farther building. "How do you like it?"

"Logs all round, it looks queer," was her answer.

"Yes, but the shingles have to go on yet."

"What about doors and windows?"

"They will cut holes in the sides to-day, and put them in afterwards."

"What a ninny I am not to think of it! How hard the men work!"

"Yes; this house, too, has to be up to-night, and made ready for shingles as well."

"Oh, if the rain would only keep off!"

"Yes, that would be grand. In the meantime we are all doing our best."

Some men were splitting pine logs into slabs and hewing them down for roof planks, and already they were being laid on the rafters of Helen's house. Others were preparing shingles, c.h.i.n.king walls and cutting apertures. Doorways, jamways, chimneys, were all being made. Every one was busy.

By the next afternoon much had been accomplished. Each man's coat was off--work was unabated--no rain had fallen--but heavy clouds covered the sky--and Bateese's prediction seemed likely of fulfilment.

The shingling of Helen's house had been finished. A log fire was burning on the andirons to dry the dampness and take away the green, while men were doing their best in many ways to make it habitable.

"Can I have my boxes brought in now?" Helen asked of Harold. "There's the first drop of rain."

"Yes, if the rubbish can be cleared out of the way."

"Emmiline and I will see to that."

Then Bateese and the soldiers brought over what was personal for Helen's cottage; while she, her faithful Emmiline and Harold, did the rest.

In the preparations of the officers' house progress had been slower, but as it was evident that rain would be upon them heavily by night, the energies of the men were taxed to their utmost. Bit by bit the place was put in order, and load after load of goods were brought in and piled at random even before the roof was closed in.

"The shingling must be finished, no matter how it rains," cried Captain Payne, "and every man shall have an extra ration of grog when it is done. The officers will occupy this house to-night, no matter what happens."

The promise of extra liquor, for all were wet, stimulated to greater exertion, and valiantly the men obeyed orders. By night rain came down in torrents. Though drenched to the skin, the shinglers continued their work until the last one was laid, and beneath the sheltering roof of their new cottage Sir George and his officers gathered together before the night closed in.

Still, the walls of the barracks were only partly up, and for that night the men, notwithstanding the rain, were obliged to return to their old quarters. So with the women in the _b.u.mble Bee_, Harold and Helen in their new cottage, the officers in their house, and the men in their old camp, the night wore on.

By-and-bye the east wind veered to the south. With warmer air and rain the snow and ice melted rapidly away. But toward morning another change came. The wind swept to the west and increased to a hurricane; savagely the frozen surface of the bay broke up, toppling huge waves over each other in fury, and forcing the ice blocks out to the freer s.p.a.ce along the eastern sh.o.r.e. So mad was the wind, so wild the elements, bursting free from the icy grip of winter--that the lake at Beausoliel tossed mountains high in a white-capped sea of foam. The trouble, however, was not in the distance, but at hand.

During the earlier hours of the night, tired out by their day's work, the men slept soundly, notwithstanding the tempest. The pine-needle padding of the roofs of the camp in some measure protected the bunks from leakage; and, as the soldier heeds not the storm, save when summoned to duty, on they slept. By-and-bye the wind increased in savage fury. Stakes loosened, camp poles swayed, and at the earliest dawn the sentry sounded the alarm. But it was none too soon. The men had scarcely time to spring to their feet and don their jackets before the crash came. There were oaths and yells and confusion; clashing of timbers and popping of heads through the debris; while not a few derisive laughs rang out above the sound of the screeching wind.

"What a devilish row!" cried Corporal Bond to Hardman, as they fell over each other in making their exit. "A complete flattener. Pray G.o.d, none o' the boys are killed."

"It beats all," returned Hardman, as a flying stick struck him on the head and knocked him over. But he was up in a moment, vigorously rubbing the place. "Jimminy Isaacs! Lucky the women are in the boat," he yelled out.

"Is it, though?" cried the Corporal, as a wild shout came from the stormy bay beneath them.

"Ba gosh! Vat's de matter wid de _b.u.mble Bee_?" yelled Bateese, who, after crawling from beneath a stack of pine poles, rushed to their side.

There was commotion down there, no doubt, though what it was the darkness hid from view. Away went Bateese, running with tremendous strides and followed by others, realizing that possibly the women might be in danger.

Protected from wind and wave by the island already mentioned, the ice between the latter and the sh.o.r.e withstood the force of the tempest the longest. At the northern end of the protected channel lay the _b.u.mble Bee_, and while stationary in the ice, the storm failed to rouse the occupants. The sudden veering of the wind, however, changed the flattened surface into a boiling cauldron. Tumultuously, the ice, worn thin by the prolonged thaw, was broken into fragments, and the little ship, frozen solid at her moorings for the whole of the winter, was suddenly cast loose upon the waters.

Latimer and his wife were both roused by the lurch of the boat. As an old seaman, he knew at once what had happened. The rudder, too, was gone, and he called loudly for a.s.sistance. At the same moment the women screamed, for the boat tossed like a c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.l beneath them.

"Be easy, now," cried Latimer. "Don't make fools of yourselves! This ain't the first sail the _b.u.mble Bee_ ever made."

"If it ain't the first, it's the last," retorted his wife, fiercely.

"Bet your bottom dollar she'll make many another yet. h.e.l.lo, Bateese!

Ketch this rope when I throw it."

But the distance was too great.

"Hold on, wait a meenit," and Bateese ran to a pile of young beeches that had been cut as pike poles for building.

"That 'tarnal Frenchman," muttered Latimer. "The rudder's broken, and we'll drift out of reach before he's back again."

But Bateese knew better.