IN THE FRENCH CROSS WOOD.
In early days old Louis Gastonguay, who had no mind to be teased by
the Indians as were other less shrewd settlers, purchased from a band
of Penobscots their summer camping-ground, consisting of a strip of
beautiful woodland extending along the river bank behind his log cabin.
To ensure peaceful possession, he paid what was considered an
exorbitant price for two hundred acres of land, but time proved that
the price he paid was not a ruinous one, for during the long Indian
wars not a Gastonguay lost his scalp, though there were some members of
his family little liked by the red men.
This wood had been, through successive generations, the pride of the
Gastonguays, and it had been cleared and embellished by various members
of the family until at this time it was famed throughout the State for
its combination of natural and artificial beauty.
Miss Gastonguay and her guests strolled in a leisurely way through
its shady alleys, crossing and recrossing at intervals the one broad
avenue that ran through it. The sun was hot overhead, but protecting
pines and spruces interposed verdant and sheltering arms, and gently
waved toward the pedestrians a river breeze that caught and carried to
them a dozen spicy odours from the forest paths.
Justin went with his hat in his hand, his mother on his arm. Captain
White kept up an animated conversation with his hostess, who seemed to
have some particular attraction for him, while Derrice, with the pony,
wandered erratically behind, sometimes in the path, sometimes far from
it, in search of some shy wild flower that had stretched out a slender
neck to look at them, and then had vainly tried to hide itself from her
vandal fingers behind some leafy fern.
The pony adored Derrice, and he was greatly interested in the wild
flowers. As he stood with his delicate hoofs planted in mossy beds, his
fat knees hidden by branching brakes, he often extended his head over
her shoulder, and if he approved, by his sense of smell, of the blossom
she was gathering, he immediately appropriated it as a dainty morsel
for his own delectation.
Derrice playfully slapped his face, and finally taking off her
beflowered hat perched it on his head, whereupon, having something else
to think of, he left her alone and stood sheepishly waiting for her to
rejoin the rest of the party.
After a time she threw an arm over his neck and hurried after the
others. Miss Gastonguay had been looking for her herd of tame deer, but
was just giving up the quest. "It is too hot," she said, "they have
probably gone across the swamps. Shall we sit here?" and she indicated
a circular seat about an enormous oak-tree.
"Have you ever favoured Derrice with the story of this tree?" asked
Justin, as they sat down.
"I believe I have."
"Yes, ever so long ago," said Derrice, shaking the sunbeams from
her uncovered head. "See if I have it right,--the Gastonguays in
Revolutionary time warmly espoused the cause of the colonies. They
considered one of their sea captains a traitor, so they tied him to
this tree and whipped him soundly until he took an oath of fidelity
to his country, and promised to fight against the 'Bands of Tyranny,'
whose 'Plodding Pates' had long projected methods to enslave his
countrymen. He took the oath and they set him loose, and drank several
draughts of toddy with him and lived in 'Peace and Harmony' ever after.
I saw the record in the French Cross attic. Dear Miss Gastonguay, tell
some other stories of the olden times."
Miss Gastonguay happened to be in a humour for reminiscences, and,
without further persuasion, she launched into a recital of her family
history through the cruel Indian wars, the days of painful adversity
that fell upon the colony, the stirring episodes of the Revolutionary
War, and the War of the Rebellion, in which four Gastonguays, who
served in the gallant First Maine Regiment, were killed and buried in
Southern soil.
"You forgot about the black day of 1780," Derrice reminded her when she
stopped.
Miss Gastonguay patiently went back and related the story of her
family's sudden exodus from Rossignol during a brief occupancy by the
British, of their sojourn in the wilderness, and of their fright on
a certain dark day when candles were lighted at noon, and the whole
country sat in terrified expectancy of the sudden ending of the world.
This story ended, she closed her lips and refused to talk further.
"It is too fine to sit still," said Captain White, who had been
listening to her words with breathless interest, but who found the
spell broken when she ceased to speak. "I'm going up river to see if
that old prison is still scowling at your property with its hangdog
face. Does any one want to go?"
"I do," said Derrice, springing up and catching her hat from the pony
who had been standing with pink ribbons hanging foolishly over his
ears. "Won't you come, Miss Gastonguay?"
"Not to that place."
"Why not?--the river is superb from there."
Miss Gastonguay obstinately shook her head. Never again in her life
would she look on the old red-shingled building. "Perhaps I'll come to
meet you," she said, when Derrice made no pretence at concealing her
disappointment.
"I guess you'd better stay behind, too, Hippolyta," said Captain White
to his flushed spouse. "You look as if you'd been having a staring
match with old Sol and he'd beaten you. What are you for, Justin?"
"Nothing, but to be let alone," said the young man, enjoyably. He had
stretched himself out on the bench behind the giant tree, and only his
head was visible to the people on the other side of it.
"Take off your glasses and rest your eyes," said Derrice, going to him
and putting his spectacles in his pocket. "We won't be long," and,
surreptitiously kissing the ear in which she whispered the words, she
hurried after her escort, who was walking briskly along with both
elbows cutting the air in his usual fashion.
"They're as lively as two mosquitoes," observed Mrs. White, amiably.
"And I'm as sleepy as an owl," said Miss Gastonguay. "I haven't been
resting well lately. If you'll hold your tongue for ten minutes,
Hippolyta Prymmer, or rather White, I believe I'll drop off," and she
drowsily laid her head against the hard tree trunk.
"I guess I'll copy you," said Mrs. White, phlegmatically, but in making
her arrangements for a nap she selected a spot where pine-needles most
thickly strewed the ground.
Justin laughed in his sleeve, but in two minutes he, too, had joined
the ladies in a brief nap, and only the pony was left to gaze amiably
from one sleeper to another, and guard them from intruders.