GLORIOUS MEET YOU AT SOUTH STATION BOSTON SEVEN THIRTY P M
AUGUST TENTH
So busy were the girls during the next few days that time simply raced
along; and almost before they realized it, they were on the train bound
for Boston.
“We’ve chased around so constantly for the past week,” said Nancy, when
the yards were left behind and the train began to speed up, “that I’m
_dead_.”
“So am I. Those last two parties nearly finished me.”
“Imagine, having one last night and one the night before! It is awfully
nice of people to entertain for us, but shouldn’t you think that they
would know we’d be too busy for such things?”
“Yes; but since they were given especially for us, we could hardly do
other than go.”
“No-o-o,” yawned Nancy. “But I’m going to make up a little sleep between
here and Albany. We’ve seen this road before. Then when we get to the
Berkshires, I’ll be all rested and be able to enjoy them.”
The day passed quickly and quietly, for the girls were really very,
tired. But riding on a good train is soothing; so when they came to a
stop in the big South Station, they felt equal to anything. Close to the
main entrance to the waiting room, they spied Martha; and the three fell
upon one another regardless of the crowd hurrying in both directions. In
a short time they were in their rooms at the hotel—a single and a
double, with a bath between.
“Let’s get something to eat before we unpack and go to bed,” proposed
Nancy. “We had so much sweet stuff on the train, that I feel the need of
hot muffins and tea. And I do hope they have toasted English muffins
here. I just love ’em with nice, hot, Orange Pekoe tea, with a thick
slice of lemon floating around in it.”
“I want a club sandwich,” declared Martha, as they seated themselves at
a small table in the café of the hotel.
“I’m going to order chicken bouillon and rolls,” decided Jeanette.
“Isn’t it funny, no matter how much we like sweets, it is so easy to
tire of them?”
They went out for a little walk, and then went to their rooms, after
which each of the girls wrote a short note home letting their people
know that they had “arrived safely.”
“Now, I’ll unpack both cases, while you take a bath, Janie,” said Nancy.
“Then, while I bathe, you can put the clothes away.”
Jeanette shut herself in the bathroom, but presently Nancy came to the
door.
“Janie, do you know where the key to my suitcase is?”
“No. You put it in your bag when we left home; and if it isn’t there,
then I don’t know where it is.”
“Well, it isn’t there.”
“Look again, Nanny,” advised Jeanette; for Nan was always losing things,
and then discovering them in some odd corner. When she came out of the
bathroom, however, a distressed, pale-faced Nancy was bending over the
contents of her bag, which she had turned out on the dresser.
“I’ve looked everywhere, Janie; and it simply isn’t anywhere. I must
have pulled it out of my bag with a handkerchief, or tickets, or
something, and lost it. What shall I do?”
“It’s lucky you put your night things in with mine, so you can get along
without your case to-night.”
Jeanette was carrying a hat box, besides her suitcase; and the girls had
used it in common, so as not to have to unpack everything at each stop.
“Yes,” wailed Nancy, “but I haven’t a dress to wear to church to-morrow;
or a hat.”
“Well, we’ll try to have it opened; but if we can’t, you’ll just have to
wear what you wore to-day,” replied Jeanette, going to the telephone.
The hotel locksmith came up; and, after working for some time, he said
that much as he hated to do it, he’d have to force the locks.
“And don’t close that,” he advised them on leaving the room, “until you
are sure you want it closed; for it may lock again.”
By that time it was nearly midnight; and the girls fell asleep as soon
as their heads touched the pillows.
The following morning was spent in going to church, and wandering about
the streets near the hotel.
“I wish we could take a ride somewhere,” said Nancy, looking longingly
at the big sight-seeing busses which were rolling in all directions.
“So do I; but we might not get back in time to sail,” replied Jeanette.
“It is nearly lunch time now; and you know we were going to get on board
early. Miss Ashton is to meet us there an hour before sailing time.”
“Curtis wrote me,” observed Nancy, as they reentered their hotel, “to
have a very light, simple lunch; and to go easy on the first meal on
shipboard.”
“Why?” demanded Martha. “Does he think you ought to go on a diet?”
“No, goose; so we’d be less likely to be sick. He didn’t mean just me;
he meant all of us.”
“Well, grateful as I am for his advice, I’m starved; and I’m going to
eat.”
“All right, Mart,” laughed Nancy; “but don’t say that you weren’t
warned.”
The luncheon menu was very attractive; but Nancy and Jeanette sternly
repressed their desires for a quantity of rich food. They ate simple
things, and ate them sparingly.
Immediately after luncheon they packed; and as Nancy closed her
suitcase, sure enough, it locked!
“Don’t worry,” advised Jeanette. “You won’t need it on the steamer; and
somebody in Nova Scotia will be able to open it. Anyway, you couldn’t
have carried it about with you with the lid open.”
“But the customs!”
“Let the customs officer open it. He’ll have all kinds of keys.”
“But he’ll think I’m smuggling in Heaven knows what.”
“Then it’ll be a good joke on him when he doesn’t find anything,” chimed
in Martha. “You should worry.”
On the dock, Miss Ashton was waiting for them; and after greetings were
over, they gave their luggage to a porter. After going through several
passages, sheds, and gates, they finally went up the gangplank, and on
board.
Their two staterooms were nearly opposite each other, on the main deck.
“Who is going to be my partner?” inquired Miss Ashton, looking at the
three girls.
“I, if you want me,” replied Martha. “It would be a crime to separate
the two inseparables.”
“That was nice of Mart,” whispered Nancy, as they entered their
stateroom, and put things in order.
“We must go up on the promenade deck, girls,” called Miss Ashton
presently, “and get our chairs placed where we want them. The crowds
will soon be coming on board, and the desirable places will all be
taken.”
They decided on the right side of the steamer, near an enclosed portion
of the deck, which would help keep off some of the wind.
“We’d better each have a rug, too,” said Miss Ashton, to the deck
steward, who was putting tags on the chairs.
“What are those for?” asked Martha.
“Your stateroom number is on the tag; and no one but the holder of that
room can use the chair. There is no danger, then, of finding it occupied
when you come back from a stroll.”
The girls walked about in the sunshine, inspecting the boat and their
fellow passengers, and looking at Boston, spread out along the water
front.
Down at the purser’s office was the usual crowd trying to straighten out
reservations; to get a better stateroom, or to get some kind of
accommodations when there were no more to be had. Women with small
children wandered aimlessly about the steamer, or found cozy corners in
which to settle down. Many of the passengers watched from the port side
while dozens of automobiles were put on board. A small baby cooed
delightedly over its bottle, as it lay on a settee in the salon,
blissfully oblivious of the noise and confusion all about.
Soon came the cry—“_All ashore who are going ashore!_”
Passengers bade good-bye to friends and relatives who had accompanied
them on board. The great cables were released, the gangplank was pulled
in, and the steamer began to move slowly and majestically away from the
wharf.
*CHAPTER IV*
*ON THE HIGH SEAS*
“Oh!” cried Martha, when the steamer was well away from Boston, and
headed northward, “I’m frozen!”
“Spread your rug over the chair; then sit down and fold the sides over
you,” directed Miss Ashton. “You’ll be much warmer that way.”
They all followed her advice, and lay cozily watching the sunset; while
the deck trotters paced back and forth in front of them.
“First call for dinner!” called a colored porter, passing along the
deck, and accompanying his words by strokes on a brass gong.
“How about it?” asked Martha. “I’m hungry.”
“Go down if you like, Mart,” replied Nancy. “Jeanette and I are going to
stay right here.”
“Right here! And not eat at all?” gasped Martha.
“A bit later the steward will bring us some sandwiches and ginger ale.”
“Ginger ale in this cold wind!” exclaimed Martha. “You’d better have it
heated.”
Nancy laughed. “An old Frenchman up in Canada told us that if we’d drink
ginger ale on shipboard, we’d never be seasick; and we’re going to try
it out.”
“I’ll go down with you, Martha,” said Miss Ashton, getting up and
throwing her rug over Nancy and Jeanette, who were shivering in spite of
their own heavy ones. “I’m a good sailor; so nothing bothers me.”
The wind increased, and the ocean got choppy as soon as it grew dark; so
the girls had their chairs moved into the enclosed deck, but near the
door so they had plenty of ocean air.
“How do you feel, Nan?” asked Jeanette a bit anxiously, after they had
finished their simple lunch.
“Mighty dizzy if I sit up; but deliciously comfortable as long as I lie
back quietly. I feel as if I could stay here for hours.”
“That is the way with me, too.”
Some time later Miss Ashton came out on deck, and she was alone.
“Martha has succumbed,” she said, in reply to the girls’ questions. “The
motion is much more noticeable in the dining room, and that, combined
with the odor of food, about finished her. I put her to bed, and left
her in the care of our stewardess. She’ll be all right soon, and will
probably go to sleep.”
“Poor old Mart!” commented Nancy. “If she’d only stayed out of the
dining room. But if she had,” she added, “then we would have been
certain that she was already sick. Mart likes to eat even more than I
do.”
The pacers of the deck increased in number, and soon there was a regular
procession of people trying to see how many times they could encircle
the ship. It was interesting to watch the different gaits. Some walked
so well, with a free, rhythmic swing, as if thoroughly accustomed to the
exercise, and enjoying it. Others, apparently, were doing it because
they thought it was “the thing to do,”—and were making pretty hard work
out of it.
“I’m walking all the way to Yarmouth,” panted a fat man, on his sixth
round. The next time the parade passed in front of the trio, he was
missing.
“I suppose he has collapsed somewhere,” said Jeanette.
“Who will be missing when they pass again?” wondered Nancy. “I bet it
will be the pretty little girl with the brown curls.”
It was. From this point on the walkers dropped out rapidly, and finally
only three girls of about Nancy’s age remained.
“I’m going to follow them and see how they do it,” exclaimed a boy of
about fourteen, springing up from a near-by chair, and pacing after the
girls, imitating exactly their long strides and swinging arms. On his
return, he dropped exhausted into his chair, without volunteering any
information to the amused spectators. The three girls continued to pass
by regularly. The motion of the boat did not seem to disturb them at
all; they appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.
“Let’s go to bed,” proposed Jeanette, suddenly.
“Not a bad idea,” replied Nancy, getting up so quickly that she lost her
balance and fell back into her chair. “My, but I’m dizzy!”
With Miss Ashton’s help she finally managed to get on her feet again. By
this time the motion of the boat was very pronounced, and walking was a
difficult business. But the girls managed, by clinging to each other
with one hand, and to various railings and door frames with the other,
to get safely down to their stateroom. There the motion was a bit less
noticeable; so they had no difficulty in preparing for bed.
The fresh salt air had made them very sleepy, and they knew nothing more
until the ship’s whistle began to blow at regular intervals.
“What do you suppose is the matter now, Janie?” Nancy asked anxiously.
“Fog, I imagine,” replied Jeanette sleepily.
“Had we better get up and dress?”
“What time is it?”
“About half-past two.”
“Goodness, no! Go to sleep again. If there is any danger, the big gong
will be sounded.”
“How do you know? Who told you about that?”
“Sign—downstairs,” and Jeanette was fast asleep, while Nancy thought of
all the stories she had ever read which dealt with the horrors of ships
caught in the fogs. But after a while she too went to sleep again.
The whistle was still blowing when they got up at six o’clock, although
the steamer was anchored—somewhere.
“When do we get in?” asked Nancy of a porter who passed their door just
as she was peering out.
“Soon as the fog lifts, madam, whenever that is. We’re in the harbor
now.”
Miss Ashton and a pale-faced Martha appeared at that moment, and they
all went to the dining room. While they were having breakfast, the fog
lifted, and the sun crept out rather cautiously. Then the excitement of
disembarking began.
Passengers surged in all directions. The ship’s officers and crew were
everywhere. Baggage was piled along the corridors, and people stumbled
over it at almost every step.
Nancy had explained their locked suitcase to their porter, who promised
to do his best to get it through the customs. While they were waiting
for him in the big shed where the baggage was spread out on large tables
for inspection by the customs officials, Nancy spied, on a table
directly in front of them, a suitcase very much like her own.
“I wish I could get hold of the key to that,” she exclaimed, pointing
the bag out to Jeanette.
“But I’m afraid you can’t.”
Their porter joined them at that moment, and they went quickly out onto
the wharf and over to the train for Halifax, which was waiting near by.
To this day they do not know how the porter got Nan’s suitcase through
the customs, for it was still locked when they got onto the train.
“How funny!” exclaimed Martha, when she saw, instead of the regulation
swinging chairs of a parlor car, big willow chairs upholstered in green
velvet, but devoid of springs. These were not fastened to the floor in
any way; so everybody placed hers as she pleased. As a result, walking
down the aisle presented quite a problem.
When the train began to pull out, Nancy happened to glance across the
aisle; and nearly fell out of her chair.
“Janie!” she whispered, “there is the very same suitcase we saw in the
customs.”
Without waiting for a reply, she went across to the gray-haired woman
who occupied the seat opposite hers.
“Pardon me, madam,” she said, a bit breathlessly, “but have you the key
for that suitcase?”
“Why, yes,” replied the woman, in some surprise.
“And might I borrow it?” she asked, going on to tell the reason for her
strange request.
The woman was only too glad to accommodate her, and was as pleased as
the girls themselves when the key opened Nancy’s suitcase.
“Wasn’t that the strangest coincidence?” asked Nancy, as they settled
back to enjoy the scenery; and they all agreed with her.
“No one but Nancy,” observed Jeanette, with a smile at her friend,
“would have had the problem solved so easily. She is always getting into
difficulties, and being taken out of them. Most of us would have gone
through the country with our things safely locked in.”
“Now, girls,” said Miss Ashton, “what do you know about this country?”
“Very little,” replied Nancy, “except that the scene of Longfellow’s
_Evangeline_ is laid here. And I can readily see, even after the bit of
the country we have passed, why he spoke of the ‘forest primeval.’ There
is plenty of forest here all right.”
“I meant to look up some information before we started, but I didn’t
have a minute,” said Jeanette.
“I vote that Miss Ashton tell us all we should know,” proposed Martha.
The motion was seconded, and passed unanimously; so they moved their
chairs into a cozy group, and Miss Ashton produced a small map.
“As you can see,” she began, “Nova Scotia is a peninsula attached to
that part of Canada called New Brunswick by a very narrow isthmus; it is
only about ten feet wide. We landed down here at Yarmouth, on the
southwestern coast, and this railroad follows the western and northern
coast line over to Halifax, on the northeastern shore. The country was
discovered about the year of 1000 by a Norseman from Iceland, called
Leif the Lucky. He called it Marksland, and left it to a native tribe of
Indians called Micmacs. There are supposed to be some remnants of the
Micmacs still in the country.
“In 1497, John Cabot landed here, and claimed the country for England.
Some years later, the French attempted settlements which were not
permanent. About the year 1606, Champlain and some other Frenchmen
founded Arcadia at Port Royal, which was later destroyed by the English.
In 1629, James VI of Scotland gave the entire territory to a favorite of
his for colonization, and called it New Scotland, or Nova Scotia. From
that time on, the country was constantly handed back and forth from the
French to the English; for both claimed it until 1710, when it fell
permanently into the hands of Great Britain.”
“But where does the expulsion of the Acadians, as referred to by
Longfellow, come in?” asked Nancy.
“Some of the French, after the destruction of Port Royal, had gathered
in the village of Grand Pré, and gradually a prosperous and even wealthy
settlement grew up. Authorities are divided as to the question of their
loyalty to the British government. Be that as it may, the English
reached the conclusion that the community was a menace, and decided to
deport the people and confiscate their lands. This was done in 1747. You
might refresh your memories of the details by rereading _Evangeline_.”
“The Acadians came back again; didn’t they?” asked Jeanette.
“Yes; some years later, many of the survivors returned to settle on the
shores of St. Mary’s Bay. We shall see the little Acadian villages on
one of our bus trips.”
“The scenery is beautiful,” observed Jeanette. “So many lakes, bays, and
rivers! Such quantities of white birch, and all kinds of pine trees.”
“It reminds me of the frequency with which the birch is mentioned in the
‘Anne’ books,” remarked Nancy.
“The ‘Anne’ books?” repeated Martha.
“Yes; _Anne of Green Gables_, and all the rest of them, by L. M.
Montgomery. If you have never read them, your education has been
neglected; and you should remedy the defect. I read the whole series
over twice, and I think I could enjoy reading them again if there were
not so many things to be read.”
“What rolling country it is,” remarked Miss Ashton a little later. “I
have heard that there is scarcely a half mile stretch of level land; and
there are two mountain ranges, one on the west coast, and one on the
north.”
“The character of the country surprises me,” said Jeanette. “For no good
reason at all, I have always pictured it as flat.”
At Digby, nearly all the travelers got out for ice cream cones.
“Now, Nan,” warned Jeanette, “you know your weakness for missing trains.
_Please_ don’t go too far.”
They were wandering back to the station, when Nancy’s eye was caught by
some post cards attractively displayed in the window of a small store.
“Go on, Janie,”’ she said. “I’ll snatch just a couple of these and catch
up with you.”
“But don’t stay a minute,” cautioned Jeanette, walking on. “It’s nearly
time for the train to start.”
She boarded the train, but stood on the platform looking anxiously up
the road.
The whistles blew, the bell rang, and the train began to get under way;
but no Nancy. At that moment she was seen running down the street for
dear life. Luckily for her, it was necessary at that point for the train
to slow up to round a curve; and she succeeded in swinging herself onto
the steps of the last car.
“Didn’t I tell you not to stay,” Jeanette cried, fairly shaking Nancy,
when she finally reached the platform on which her friend was waiting.
“You might have been killed, getting onto a moving train like that!
You’re not going to get off ever again!”
“Poor Nannie,” said Martha, who had overheard the last words, “you won’t
be able then to get off with us at Halifax.”
“Seriously, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, “you must be more careful. Suppose
you had been left in that strange town in an unfamiliar country.”
For once, Nancy had no reply ready; for, to tell the truth, she had been
more than a little frightened herself when she saw the train begin to
move.
*CHAPTER V*
*HALIFAX*
“Halifax!” called the conductor; and everybody filed out of the train
onto the platform, where all the baggage was piled on big trucks to be
taken through the station and out to the taxicab entrance.
Martha was inclined to worry a bit about her two bags—she didn’t like to
let them out of her sight; but Nancy and Jeanette, who had seen the same
process in Chicago, assured her that she had no need for anxiety.
“Don’t you feel real important when you can say, ‘they did this or that
in such and such a place’?” whispered Nancy to Jeanette as they followed
the crowd to the exit at the end of the station, where the taxi platform
was located. Jeanette admitted that she did.
At the outer edge of the platform was a railing over which leaned,
facing them, a crowd of taxicab drivers, each shouting the name of the
particular hotel he covered. It was a veritable bedlam, and nothing
could be done but listen to it until the baggage was brought out.
“We had better have two cabs, I think,” said Miss Ashton, “on account of
our numerous bags. Martha and I will take this one, and you two can
follow in the next.”
The cab which came up to the steps immediately after she and Martha had
driven off, was quickly claimed by another party; so the girls had to
wait for the next. They signaled to one as it approached; but as soon as
it drew up, a tall woman, who apparently sprang from nowhere, stepped
out ahead of the girls and into the cab.
Jeanette ventured to remark, “_We_ called this cab,” and the taxi men
looked at one another and smiled. The girls hesitated; but the woman
leaned forward and said to Nancy: “You are going to the Lord Nelson
Hotel; aren’t you?”
“Why, yes——”
“Then we may as well go up together,” and she settled firmly back in the
corner of the cab.
There was nothing else to be done; so Nancy got in, and Jeanette
followed her.
The baggage was piled in front, and soon they were off up the steep
streets leading to the hotel. The stranger, apparently an English woman,
talked entertainingly of her trip across, the gifts which had been sent
to her stateroom when she sailed, and of Halifax which she had not
visited in several years. When they drew up at the hotel, which is
opposite the beautiful Public Gardens, she paid her share of the
charges, took her one smart-looking bag, and walked away down the
street, murmuring something about taking a walk.
“Of all queer women!” observed Jeanette. “Why on earth doesn’t she go in
and dispose of the bag?”
A boy took their bags up to the room which had been reserved for them;
and as Nancy felt for her purse, she gasped a little and whispered to
Jeanette, “You tip him.”
“Janie!” she exclaimed, as soon as the door was closed, “I’ve lost my
purse. I didn’t look for it when we were getting out of the cab, because
you paid our share; and now I haven’t it.”
“Was there much in it?”
“Oh, no; about $2.50, I think. You know I never keep much in it when
we’re traveling.”
“But when did you have it last?”
“I know I had it when we were in the station.”
The girls looked at each other, their thoughts apparently traveling in
the same direction.
“I do hate to suspect anybody,” said Nan, “but I am awfully suspicious
of our queer-acting traveling companion.”
Martha and Miss Ashton entered just in time to hear the last words, and
asked for an explanation.
“I’m afraid there is nothing to be done, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, after
hearing the story. “You are fortunate that there was not much in it.”
“Indeed I am; and I’m not going to worry about it. It is to avoid worry
of that kind, that I carry so little money in my purse; then if it does
get lost, it’s not especially important. What’s our immediate program?”
“Unpack, perhaps,” suggested their chaperon.
“If you don’t mind,” said Nancy, “I’d like to leave that until dinner
time; and run out for a few minutes. We needn’t start to dress for an
hour or so, and I should like to look around a bit. I never feel at home
in a new place until I’ve had a walk.”
“It looks a lot like rain,” objected Jeanette; “and a fog is beginning
to fall.”
“Well, we won’t go far; and we’ve been out in dampness before, Janie
dear.”
So the three girls, after consulting some attractive souvenir
advertisements in a folder, started out; while Miss Ashton remained to
unpack, and rest a bit before dinner. They wandered along the street
next to the hotel, stopping to look in various windows at amethysts,
which were displayed in great profusion.
“I never saw so many amethysts in all my life,” said Martha. “Why do
they make so much of them here?”
“Oh, the folder said that there is a mine of them at Cape Blomidon, and
every tourist buys at least one. Look; there is a mass just as it was
taken from the mine,” and Nancy pointed to a large piece, looking much
like rock salt, except that it was lavender and the crystals were of
varying sizes. For some minutes they rambled along, admiring the fine
old English houses and estates.
“I think we had better turn back now,” proposed Jeanette. “It always
takes longer to unpack and dress than one counts on; and I imagine Miss
Ashton would like to get in for dinner a little early.”
“Just a minute,” begged Martha. “Let’s go just a little ways down this
next street. Or you two go back if you want to; I’ll catch up with you.”
So they parted. Before the two girls got very far, it began to rain very
heavily; and they discovered that Martha was carrying their one
umbrella.
“Come on, Jeanette; we’ll have to run!” cried Nancy, catching her by the
hand.
With several stops to rest, in sheltered doorways, they at last reached
the hotel. By this time a dense fog shut down. The street lights, which
had been turned on, looked like ghostly globes; and cabs and people were
dim shapes.
“Where is Martha?” asked Miss Ashton, when they entered their rooms.
“I’m really rather worried about her,” added Jeanette, after they had
explained.
“She’ll find her way back all right,” maintained Nancy. They were all
anxious, however, when half an hour passed, and still no Martha. Miss
Ashton was about to go down to the office for advice, when the girl
rushed in; and Nancy and Jeanette plied her with all kinds of questions.
“I was all right,” she gasped, “until that blamed fog came up.”
“Came down,” corrected Nancy.
“I wandered about trying to find my way, and getting more and more lost
every minute. Finally I ran into a man in uniform, and asked him to set
me on my way. I thought he looked a bit familiar; and who was he but the
purser from our steamer. He’s awfully nice, and he came all the way to
the hotel with me!”
“Martha! Martha! I’ll certainly have to chaperon you more carefully,”
laughed Miss Ashton. “However, all’s well that ends well. Now hurry, and
dress for dinner. We didn’t have much on the train this noon; and I, for
one, am hungry.”
After dinner they wandered about the hotel for an hour, and then went to
bed.
“We must be up and ready to start at eight thirty,” was Miss Ashton’s
good night instruction.
Promptly at that hour, they took their seats with a few other people in
the roomy, comfortable bus.
“My name is James Jackson,” announced the conductor, as he checked up
the list of passengers, “but most people call me ‘Jim.’”
Soon they were out of the city and on the open road leading to Chester
and Bridgewater, on the southeastern coast. The roads ran up and down
hills constantly, and around all kinds of curves, crossing and
recrossing the railroad over which they had ridden the day before.
“This is heaps of fun!” cried Nancy, as they rolled down one
particularly long slope. “It’s just like a great roller coaster. I hope
there are lots of roads like this.”
“So many you’ll get tired of them,” commented the driver, without
enthusiasm.
“No danger at all!”
A beautiful lake suddenly appeared on the right, and soon was left
behind; then acres and acres of pasture land, dotted with cattle,
stretched out on either side.
“Oh!” squealed Nancy suddenly. “Did you see _that_?”
“What?” inquired the others eagerly, looking back to see what they had
missed.
“That tiny little black and white calf in the corner of that meadow. He
was scratching his nose with his hind paw——”
A burst of laughter interrupted her.
“But he did,” she persisted, when she could make herself heard. “And it
was too cute for anything!”
“It wasn’t that,” explained Jeanette, “it was because you called his
hoof a paw.”
“Well, how should I know its proper name. I’m not a farmer, and don’t
pretend to be.”
“I wonder if there is duty on calves,” commented Jeanette in mock
seriousness. “Perhaps you would like to take the dear little fellow home
with us, if the farmer would sell him.”
Everybody laughed; for Nancy was always wanting to “take home with her”
all kinds of animals, and was prevented from maintaining a small zoo
only by the fact that her family wouldn’t tolerate it.
The bus shot through the pine woods, and out again to roll smoothly
along the edge of a large body of water.
“This is Mahone Bay,” said the driver; “and that island is Oak Island
where Captain Kidd is supposed to have buried some of his treasure.”
“Oh,” cried Martha. “How I’d love to go out to it. Could we?”
“On the way back we stop here for lunch,” said the driver, as they
entered the town of Chester. “Perhaps you could get some fisherman to
take you out.”
“What do you expect to do there, Mart?” laughed Jeanette. “Find some of
the treasure?”
“I might. Who knows? And wouldn’t I have the laugh on you if I _did_!”
“Look,” said Miss Ashton, as they stopped in front of the inn for a
moment and the driver went in to give notice of the number of guests he
would have stopping there for lunch, “that woman is doing her marketing
with a pail instead of a basket.”
Sure enough a tall, thin woman, primly dressed in an old-fashioned
looking garment of dull calico, was going from one store to another, and
piling meat, groceries, fruit, and notions into a large tin pail which
hung on her arm.
On the way to Bridgewater they ran in and out of fog constantly.
Sometimes the air would be perfectly clear, and the sun shining
brightly. Then suddenly the fog would shut down so heavily that they
could hardly see to the edge of the beach.
“Isn’t this queer?” said Martha. “At home either we have fog or we
don’t.”
“That’s the way it is here, too,” replied the driver, smiling over his
shoulder at Nancy; and Martha could not understand why they all laughed.
Then he went on to explain that it was because they changed “levels” so
constantly, that they “had the fog” or “didn’t have it” in such rapid
succession.
“This is Lunenburg,” he explained presently, as they ascended a hill
into a small, prosperous-looking town. “It is famous for the building of
deep-sea fishing vessels. Out there,” pointing to the expanse of water
below them, “is the Lunenburg Harbor. There are some boats ready for
use; some ready for the masts; and on the shore are others just begun.
Notice that the prows are all painted blue; for they are known as
‘Bluenose Boats.’”
“I have heard that term so many times since we landed,” said Miss
Ashton, “and I never heard it before. For example, the train we came on
yesterday is called the ‘Bluenose Special.’ What is the origin, and
significance?”
“The name dates back to the American Revolution,” explained Jim.
“Certain families who were direct descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers
emigrated to Nova Scotia during the war. These were known as Bluenose
families; and the term came to be used more generally later on as a mark
of high quality.”
On the way back to Chester they passed an enclosed wagon with two doors
at the back. “That,” said Jim, “is a traveling store. It carries
everything from crackers to kerosene.”
“How very _funny_!” exploded Martha, leaning out of the window a bit to
get another look.
“Be careful,” warned Miss Ashton. “That is always dangerous.”
“She might fall out!” laughed Nancy.
“How could anyone fall out of the window!” Martha was indignant again.
“Many of the people of this country,” continued the driver, “live at
great distances from stores; and as the automobile is not yet so common
as it is in the States, they find it difficult to get to the towns to
buy what they need.”
As they drove along, they passed another traveling store standing in
front of a small house; and from it the proprietor was taking several
garments on hangers.
“That fellow,” said the driver, “operates a ready-to-wear shop. Most of
them do not limit their lines; they carry everything. He believes in
specializing.”
“Wouldn’t it be convenient to have things brought in instead of having
to go after them,” said Jeanette.
“Not for you, Janie,” laughed Nancy. “You’d need a whole procession of
wagons. She goes through one store after another before she finds
anything to suit her,” she explained to the driver.
On their return trip, they stopped at Chester for lunch at the Lovett
House. It is one hundred and fifty years old, and has been in the hands
of the family of the present owners for one hundred and two years. There
are steps up into this room, and down into that one. The old wall paper
is patterned in hunting scenes; and the whole house is filled with
delightful, old-fashioned furniture. The side porch is built right
around the trunk of an immense tree.
“Now for Captain Kidd’s island,” said Martha after lunch. “We can go;
can’t we?” she appealed to the driver, as the girls laughed at her.
“I could get someone to take them out,” he replied, looking at Miss
Ashton for assent.
“If you have time to indulge her whim,” she replied, “I have no
objections to make.”
Before very long the girls and Miss Ashton were in a small launch manned
by an old fisherman, and headed for Oak Island. It was a forlorn-looking
spot when they reached it, much of it covered by trees and brush, and
the rest of it holes of various shapes and depths.
“Apparently you’re not the first one who has entertained hopes of
becoming wealthy, Mart,” said Nancy, peering into one immense
excavation.
“I wouldn’t care so much about getting rich,” she replied, “if I could
find even one coin to take home. Imagine, having even _one_ souvenir
from Captain Kidd’s treasure.”
“Of course, Mart,” said Jeanette practically, “it is not a certainty
that he even buried any of it here.”
“Anyway, if at first you don’t succeed,” began Nancy, “you know the rest
of it.”
They prowled around for about twenty minutes, and then wandered back
toward the launch.
“Did you look into this hole, Mart?” asked Nancy, pointing to a wide,
shallow one near by. “It doesn’t go very deep. This particular excavator
lost heart early in the game.”
“No, I missed that.”
Martha went to inspect it, while the rest strolled on. A cry of delight
and surprise from Martha made them turn suddenly. She was running toward
them so eagerly that she did not see a twisted root in the path. Her
foot caught in it, and down she went, rolling over and over down the
slope to their very feet. They picked her up with anxious questions as
to the extent of her injuries, trying hard not to laugh; for she had
presented a very funny spectacle.
“I’m—all—right,” she gasped. “Don’t bother. But look.”
She opened one hand, which she had kept tightly closed in spite of her
catastrophe. In the palm lay an earth-stained, blackened coin!
“I saw the edge of it sticking out from one side of the hole, and I
could hardly believe my eyes when I pulled it out! Just think of my
having been so very lucky!”
She could talk of nothing else for some time on the return trip, and the
others tried to share her enthusiasm.
Jim examined the coin closely when they returned to the Lovett House,
and then congratulated Martha on her good fortune. As he cleverly swung
the big bus around the corner, and on the road out of Chester, he looked
searchingly down at Nancy who was sitting beside him. She flushed a bit,
but her eyes were dancing with mischief.
“What would you give to know?” she asked teasingly, in a low voice.
“Nothing!” he replied. “For I’m sure I have solved the problem.”
“How?”
“Two and two always make four. The first two is the fact that I once had
a hobby of collecting coins, and I recognize many specimens; and I
_know_ that this one is not a part of the notorious Captain’s treasure.”
“And the other two?”
“That a certain person is fond of playing jokes.”
“I fear you know altogether too much.”
Jim laughed, but made no further comments. He did not always have such
congenial people to “conduct”; and he was enjoying himself immensely.
“Gathering blueberries seems to be quite a business here,” observed Miss
Ashton. “I have seen several old men and women with bowls, pitchers, or
other containers; and many children with tin cups or pails.”
“It is,” answered Jim. “The people of all ages go out in berry season
and gather all they can. A big truck makes the rounds of the scattered
houses every day, and picks up the fruit. Most of it is then shipped
from Yarmouth to Boston. The cargo of the steamer you go back on will be
largely blueberries.”
“What are the winters like here?” inquired Miss Ashton. “Rather bleak, I
should imagine.”
“They are really very much like Boston, except in the interior, where
they get more snow, and farther up north, toward Truro, where it is
considerably colder. The settlements, you will notice, are pretty much
around the edge of the country; the center is still rather wild. And
have you noticed the bundles of wood lying along the roadside?”
“Yes; and I have been wondering about them.”
“From time to time the people fell small trees, or find dry wood which
they gather into bundles, and leave to be picked up ‘some day’ when they
are passing with an empty cart. That is their winter’s supply.”
They were proceeding very slowly just then, as the road was more crooked
than usual; and was upgrade.
“How——” began Miss Ashton, when a scream from Jeanette startled
everyone.
“Martha has fallen out!” she cried.
Jim stopped the bus instantly. They looked back, and there sat Martha in
the middle of the road, covered with dust, and wearing a most
pathetically bewildered expression.
They all got out and ran back to assist her.
“What in the world happened?” inquired Nancy, brushing Martha off after
Jim had set her on her feet.
“Happened!” exploded Martha. “Plain enough to be seen, I should think. I
fell out!”
Everybody screamed with laughter.
“Yes, but——” began Nancy, and went off into another gale of merriment.
“Now please tell us just how you happened to fall, Martha,” said Miss
Ashton, when they were all in the bus again, and on their way.
“I got awfully sleepy,” said Martha, rather sheepishly, “and I thought
I’d go and sit in the back seat and take a little nap where nobody would
disturb me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the road and the bus
was going on without me. I _did_ hope you’d discover that I was missing
before you went very far.”
“But how on earth did you get out?” persisted Miss Ashton.
“That back door is almost never used, except in emergencies,”
interrupted the driver. “It may not have been closed tightly; and she
probably fell against it when she was asleep——”
“That was an emergency, all right,” commented Nancy.
“Now, Martha,” warned Jeanette, as they drew up before the hotel in
Halifax, “you have had two falls. Do be careful during the rest of our
trip.”
There was an hour to spare before it was time to dress for dinner, and
the girls spent it wandering around the Public Gardens. A rambling
stream, stone bridges, duck ponds filled with water fowl, immense trees,
great flower beds of all shapes in which are blended, in striking color
combinations, blossoms of all kinds, make it a most attractive place to
spend hours; and the girls heartily regretted that time would not permit
them to linger.
“But it is just as well we did not have any more time to walk about the
gardens,” said Jeanette, as they were preparing for bed. “I am tired to
death now.”
“I am too,” replied Nancy; “but I do hope that the bell buoy in the
harbor does not keep me awake to-night. Even in my sleep I heard that
monotonous ‘ding-dong’ last night.”
“Well, try to sleep anyhow,” advised Jeanette; “for to-morrow will be
our biggest day——”
“Oh, yes,” cried Martha, “to-morrow we see Evangeline——”
Then, as a laugh interrupted her, she went on indignantly, “I don’t know
why you all laugh every time I open my mouth. I’m not going to say
another word!”
“Until next time,” called Nancy, as Martha went into her own room.
*CHAPTER VI*
*THE LAND OF EVANGELINE*
“We have an addition to our party to-day,” said Jim when they went out
to the bus the following morning.
“Who?” inquired Nancy.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bond, ardent collectors of antiques. They go only as far
as Kentville, however.”
The newcomers proved to be a very interesting, middle-aged couple, full
of information on many subjects besides their hobby, and a real asset on
any sight-seeing trip.
“Isn’t it queer,” commented Nancy after they had ridden for a few miles,
“how we are sort of on the outside trying to look in?”
“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Martha. “On the outside of what,
looking in?”
“Why, it’s difficult to explain clearly; but we’re riding through this
country peering at everything and trying to guess what the people are
like from what we see. It is rather trying to complete a picture with
many of the principal parts missing. If you know what I mean,” she
laughed a little confusedly, seeing plainly from Martha’s expression
that she, for one, didn’t know.
But the driver smiled understandingly at Nancy. He knew what she was
trying to say. Long ere this she had discovered that Jim was a senior at
Harvard, and drove a bus only during the summer vacation. He had been
desperately lonely in this country, where he knew no one; and the
pretty, lively college girl was a godsend.
“One thing we can be reasonably sure of,” commented Miss Ashton, “is
their fondness for flowers. The front windows of so many of the houses
are filled with plants, so arranged that the blossoms reach to the very
top of the panes.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Jeanette, “and in one house the cellar windows
were also filled. Indoors they use mostly geraniums; and they seem to be
splendid specimens. What a task it must be to attend to all those
plants!”
“Even the poorest looking dwelling has its garden; and if there is a
stump or unsightly rock, it is surrounded with nasturtiums,” said Mrs.
Bond. “Those bits of bright color, dropped carelessly here and there,
are very effective in this land of green trees and gray houses.”
“I wonder why all the houses are that peculiar dull gray,” said Martha.
“They look positively ashen.”
“They are built of shingles and whitewashed,” explained Jim. “The
whitewash wears off, and leaves the house a dirty gray. And, by the way,
you will notice that many of the houses are shingled on one or two
sides, and finished with clapboards on the others. Why, I don’t know,
I’m sorry to say.”
“To return to the subject of flowers,” said Mrs. Bond, “we have been
wondering if the people’s love of them is not a kind of a reflection of
the land itself. I have never seen so many kinds and such quantities of
wild flowers.”
“That is true,” agreed Miss Ashton. “We have been reveling especially in
the profusion of wild roses along the roads.”
“They tell me,” said Jim, turning slightly toward Mrs. Bond, “that in
the proper season there are such quantities of arbutus here, or
Mayflower as some call it, that it has been adopted as the emblem of
Nova Scotia, along with the motto, ‘We bloom amid the snows.’ It is
gathered and sold in all public places; and everybody wears or carries
some as long as it lasts. Every office, they say, every store, every
house has its bouquet of arbutus.”
“What a pretty custom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bond.
“This is Windsor,” said the driver, as they entered a lovely town on the
river Avon. “It was an Acadian village; and at Fort Edward, which was
built after the country fell into the hands of the British, were drawn
up the plans for the expulsion of the Acadians.”
They drove up the lovely wooded slopes where King’s College was
established in 1787, and where it continued as the oldest colonial
university in the British Empire until very recently, when it was
removed to Halifax. A private school for boys still uses the original
chapel for its religious exercises.
“A most famous judge of Nova Scotia, Thomas Haliburton by name,” went on
the driver as they left the old buildings behind, “was also quite an
author, under the nom de plume of Sam Slick. His best known book is
called ‘The Clock Maker.’ It is regarded as a classic, and its humor is
said to rival that of Dickens himself in the Pickwick Papers. This is
his house, which we are approaching, and where he wrote his books. It is
known as the ‘Sam Slick House’ and is open to the public.”
The party was met at the low porch (upon which was an old-fashioned
scraper for removing mud from one’s shoes) by the hostess, a charming
woman, who showed them through the house. The living room, into which
the outside door opened, was paneled in oak halfway to the ceiling, and
upon it were hung various old-fashioned articles.
“What is this for?” asked Nancy, examining a covered brass pan, at the
end of a long wooden handle.
“That is a warming pan,” explained the hostess. “They used to put hot
coals inside, and run the pan under the bedclothes a few times to take
the chill off the sheets before one went to bed in severe weather. You
know in those days there was no steam heat; and most bedrooms were
entirely unheated.”
“And this, please?” asked Jeanette, fingering a metal plate which seemed
to be double, with a small lip-like opening at one side.
“That? You put hot water in there,” pointing to the opening, “and set
plates on it to keep warm.”
They gazed admiringly at the lovely gate-legged tables, fire screen,
hunting prints, and numerous other treasures; and then, through a door
at the back of the room, entered a narrow hall which ran across the
width of the house. On the opposite side opened the dining room, where
one may order refreshments, and the library where the judge’s bookcases
and desk are still standing. The woodwork of the hall was all painted in
the peculiar Acadian blue; and from either end of the hall, there was a
staircase leading to the rooms of the second floor.
“The judge built this house himself,” said the hostess, as they crossed
the oval rugs of braided blue and green straw, and went up the quaint
narrow stairs, “and he thought the rooms upstairs should be entirely
separate; so here are the ones on the right side of the house. But you
will have to go down again, and up the stairs at the other end of the
hall, to get to the rooms on the left of the house.”
“How very funny!” exclaimed Nancy, as they peered into the cretonne-hung
rooms, with their casement windows opening into the very tree tops,
their four-poster beds, and old-fashioned pictures. In one room,
apparently occupied by some favored individual, there was a tiny
air-tight stove.
“Here is something I didn’t notice when we came up,” said Mrs. Bond,
stopping on the landing on their way down, before a tall grandfather’s
clock.
The place was a veritable treasure trove for anyone interested in
antiques, and she and her husband were just reveling in their finds,
examining every article closely, and showing that their hobby was no
mere pose. They had a genuine love for old things.
“And here is another kind,” said her husband, pointing to the opposite
wall, where hung a big, round clock with heavy weights dangling from it.
“Now, that’s just the kind of clock I always imagined the mouse must
have run up,” cried Nancy, “although I never saw one before.”
“The mouse?” repeated Martha, in a puzzled tone. “What mouse?”
Nancy laughed.
“Why the one in the old rhyme, ‘Hickery-dickory-dock; the mouse ran up
the clock.’”
Mr. and Mrs. Bond exchanged glances of tolerant amusement. If there were
many college girls like the ones in this party, modern college girls
were not so bad after all.
“Here is a place we didn’t see,” said Miss Ashton, stepping into a small
room with deep, orange-colored walls. “What a perfectly _wonderful_ rug!
Look here, girls!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Nancy, plopping down on the floor beside a magnificent
white bearskin that was spread before a mammoth fireplace, and stroking
the head delightedly.
“My nephew, who is a member of the Royal Mounted Police, shot the bear
in the polar regions, and sent it to me,” said the hostess.
They could hardly get Nancy away from it, and it was with great
reluctance that all of them left the attractive house and shaded lawns,
where gay tables and striped umbrellas made one long for a cup of tea,
even at ten o’clock in the morning.
“I’m going to get hold of the ‘Sam Slick’ books as soon as we get back,”
asserted Nancy.
“Won’t it be fun to recognize the parts of the house mentioned in some
of the books?” Jeanette agreed that it would, and notation was made of
another thing to do “when they got home.”
“Just west of here,” said the driver, “on the edge of the Basin of
Minas, lies the great marsh meadow known as Grand Pré. Minas opens into
the Bay of Fundy, and is guarded by Cape Blomidon, both of which
Longfellow mentions in his famous poem. You will notice the red mud
flats on the banks of the river on this side of Nova Scotia,” he
continued, as they drove across a quaint covered bridge. “They are all
influenced by the famous double tides of the Bay of Fundy. Twice every
twenty-four hours the tide, or ‘bore,’ as it is sometimes called, rushes
into Fundy. The Avon River, for example, has a rise of thirty-four feet.
When the tide is out, the river banks are a mass of red mud, veined by
little trickles of water; when the tide comes in, with a mighty rush,
all the banks are covered.”
They soon stopped before the little house guarding the Acadian Memorial
Park, which is in the center of the old Acadian village immortalized by
Longfellow. A descendant of the Acadians has charge of this little
building, where a few souvenirs are sold, and where the services of a
guide may be obtained. Standing in the doorway which opens into the park
itself, one sees a vast stretch of meadow land, dotted with magnificent
flower beds; a chapel, a statue, and a row of willows showing up in the
distance.
“This,” said Mrs. Bond, who was elected to act as guide, since the young
man who performed that office was busy with another party, “is the site
of the meadows which the Acadians protected from the inroads of the sea
with dikes, so built that at certain seasons enough water could be let
in for irrigation purposes.”
Past beds containing flowers blended and contrasted as only the Nova
Scotians know how to arrange them, our party finally stopped beside the
stone well, known as “Evangeline’s well,” from which the inhabitants of
the old village of Grand Pré obtained their water supply.
“Is there any water in it?” inquired Nancy, peering into its mossy
depths, and gratified to see water not very far down.
“Be careful, Nan. Your purse!” cried Jeanette; but she spoke just too
late. Nancy had laid it on the top of the curb a few minutes before,
while Martha took a picture of them gathered about the well. She had
neglected to pick it up again, and shoved it off when she leaned over
the edge.
They heard a faint splash, and looked at one another in dismay; then
Martha burst out laughing.
“I’m—really—terribly—sorry for you, Nan,” she said, “but you seem to be
as unlucky with your pocketbook on this trip as I am with falls. We’ll
have to beware of the fateful third time!”
“Was there much in it, Nan?” asked Jeanette.
“Oh, no,” said Nancy carelessly. “Just a couple of dollars. You know I’m
always losing pocketbooks; so I never carry much in them. Anyway, it’s
gone; and we’re not going to let it spoil our day.”
They wandered on to the small chapel of Norman architecture, built on
the exact site of the original chapel of St. Charles, of which
Longfellow says:
“And lo! with a summons sonorous
Sounded the bell from its tower,
And over the meadows a drum beat,
Thronged erelong was the church with men.”
In time, this little building is to house books, documents, and
household articles of the French Acadians.
Halfway down the meadow, opposite the chapel, stands a bronze statue of
an idealized Evangeline.
“This is the work of Henri Hebert,” said Mrs. Bond, “one of Canada’s
foremost sculptors, and a direct descendant of the Grand Pré French.”
They all felt very serious as they gazed up at the rather sad figure,
looking backward upon the land she loved so dearly; and then strolled
down toward the row of willows which lined the street of Grand Pré. They
then followed a narrow, winding stream to a pond upon which floated
ducks among the lily pads.
“Do you suppose they’d let me pet them?” said Nancy, leaning down to
touch one which seemed tamer than the rest.
“Be careful—” began Jeanette, just as Nan’s foot slipped on the grass,
and she slid, headfirst, into the water, creating great consternation
among the inhabitants of the pool, as well as among the spectators.
Nancy was a funny looking creature as she stepped from the pond, and
Martha was once more overcome with laughter.
“You got the third fall, Nan,” she cried; “now I’ll have to lose the
third pocketbook.”
“Don’t count on that!” retorted Nancy.
“Better watch your step just the same.”
“What in the world shall we do with you, Nan?” asked Jeanette, obviously
worried.
“I’ll go back to the bus with her,” offered Miss Ashton, “and get her
bag. Probably there is some place in the gatehouse where she can change
her things. Fortunately, it is quite warm; so she is not likely to take
cold in the meantime.”
They hurried on ahead, and the others followed in leisurely fashion,
stopping often to examine the flowers. There were so many unusual kinds
that the collection would have been a delight to any student of botany.
When they reached the bus, Nancy, in dry garments, was waiting for them.
Jim stood near by, teasing her about her fondness for ducks; a fondness,
he said, strong enough to induce her to seek their habitat.
“I know one thing,” said Martha, as they climbed into the bus, “I’m
going to reread _Evangeline_ as soon as I get home. It will be so much
more interesting after seeing the place.”
*CHAPTER VII*
*EN ROUTE TO DIGBY*
“We still in the country of Evangeline,” said Jim, as they entered
Wolfville, three miles beyond Grand Pré. “From here, one may sail across
the Basin of Minas over the very course taken by the Acadians on their
way into exile. Cape Blomidon’s purple head, thrust far out into the
basin, acts as a barrier to fog and storm, thus keeping this region
especially suitable for fruit raising. The Micmac Indians believe that
Glooscap lives on Blomidon.”
“Glooscap?” inquired Nancy.
“A supernatural hero, something like the Grecian Hercules.”
“Oh! I wish we could see it!” cried Martha. “Who, the hero?” asked Jim.
“Of course not! I’m not so stupid. I mean Cape Blomidon. Then we could
gather amethysts for ourselves.”
“Can’t you be satisfied with your souvenir of Captain Kidd?” asked Jim,
with a sidewise glance at Nancy.
“Y—es. I suppose so.”
They lunched at Kentville, and bade a very reluctant farewell to Mr. and
Mrs. Bond; then drove for miles through the famous orchard lands of the
Annapolis and Cornwallis Valleys.
“The most celebrated apple district in the world,” said Jim, indicating
with a wave of his hand the endless rows of trees beside the road,
“though few people seem to know it. Here are raised many of the finest
apples which we eat in the States, especially the Northern Spy.”
Past miles of orchards, and through many little towns they sped, until
they reached Annapolis Royal.
“This is the old Port Royal, capital of French Acadia, and founded in
1604—the first permanent European settlement in America after St.
Augustine,” said Jim. “Nova Scotia boasts of being first in several
ways: The first mill was built here; the first conversion to
Christianity took place here; the first Canadian song, written in honor
of Champlain; the first play written and staged in North America; and
last, but most interesting, the first social club.
“During the winter of 1606-7,” he went on, “Champlain instituted the
‘Order of the Good Time’ to which fifteen leading Frenchmen belonged.
For a single day each member was hailed by the rest as Grand Master, and
wore a splendid collar while he acted as host to the others. The Grand
Master provided dinner and entertainment, and each man tried to surpass
his predecessors. The old Indian chief was always an honored guest, and
many of his tribe shared in the merrymaking. At the end, all smoked the
pipe of peace. When the English captured the town, its name was changed
to Annapolis Royal, in honor of Queen Anne.”
The bus rolled up the hill to the Park, which is on the site of the old
ramparts of Fort Anne; and stopped before a long, quaint building, with
three great chimneys.
“This was the officers’ quarters, built in 1798,” explained Jim; “and
over on the other side of the Park you can see the remains of the powder
magazine, and some of the fortifications, half buried in the embankment.
There are thirty fireplaces in this building, and many rooms filled with
curios well worth inspecting.”
A little, white-haired old man of military bearing took them through the
building, and explained the exhibits. He marshaled and directed the
sight-seers like a crowd of children, and insisted upon absolute quiet
while he talked. Not a finger did they dare lay upon any article, and
not a move could they make in any direction until he gave the signal.
Martha leaned over and whispered some comment to Nancy, and immediately
the guide fixed his piercing eyes upon her severely, and said, “I shall
have to ask you to refrain from talking during my lecture. I _cannot_
tell about these things when anyone else is talking.”
Martha shrank back, filled with confusion; and after that episode no one
of the whole party ventured even the briefest remark.
In the narrow hall is displayed a collection of cuts of coats of arms, a
treasure to anyone interested in the development of heraldry. In one of
the rooms there is a collection of coins, covering all types used in
Nova Scotia since the first settlement. Another is given over mostly to
souvenirs of the World War, seeming a bit out of place amidst the
relative antiques of the other rooms. Still another contains various
pieces of firearms during the different sieges of the Fort. The guide
displayed also, as one of his choicest bits, the immense key to the
fort, handed over to the English general by the French commander in the
last siege, and until recently in the hands of the Massachusetts
Historical Society.
But the girls found most interesting of all, the Acadian room, taken
intact from an Acadian house, and rebuilt into its present setting. It
is simplicity itself, and takes one back in spirit to those delightfully
simple people whom Longfellow has made so well known. The floor is bare,
and the woodwork painted Acadian blue; and on the walls are a few holy
pictures, and a couple of rifles. At one side of the fireplace with its
andirons and swinging crane, stands a wooden cradle with a hood at one
end; and on the other side is the spinning wheel. The chairs have seats
made of strips of deerskin, woven in and out. “Just like the mats we
made out of paper in the kindergarten,” said Nancy. One of the oddest
articles in the room is a table which one can transform into a chair or
a cupboard by the proper manipulation of the leaves. On the door is the
old wooden latch, and the guide explained that if this were an outside
door, the latchstring would be drawn in at night, after which no one
could open the door from the outside.
“So that,” exclaimed Nancy in delightful enthusiasm, forgetting the rule
of silence, “is where we get our expression ‘our latchstring is always
out for you.’ I’ve wondered about that ever since I first heard it.”
“Don’t you feel just as if you had been let out from school?” asked
Martha, as they left the building and walked across the Park to take a
look at the powder magazine.
“Yes; wasn’t he strict?” answered Jeanette. “But he certainly knows his
exhibits. And how he loves them, and everything connected with Nova
Scotia!”
It was difficult to tear themselves away from the interesting old place,
but Jim said they would have to be going in order to get to Digby in
proper time.
“This town,” he said, as they entered Bear River, some miles beyond
Annapolis Royal, “is celebrated for its Cherry Carnival. In the middle
of July, hundreds of tourists and natives come here to feast upon
cherries and witness a series of thrilling aquatic events. The Indians
from a near-by reservation take part in the birch bark canoe and log
rolling contests, and usually carry off many of the prizes.”
“Um!” said Martha. “I’d like to be here then. I just love cherries.”
The car now followed the curving shores of the Annapolis Basin toward
Digby. This is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The
purplish North Mountain range rises abruptly from the opposite bank of
the Annapolis River, and one passes through miles of a picture book
world—farms, quaint tiny villages, deep woods, rivers, hills, lovely
summer homes guarded by tall fir trees, log cabin colonies, until the
long bridge which leads into Digby is reached.
“Out there,” said Jim, pointing across Digby Basin, “is what they call
Digby Gut. It was properly named Digby Gap; but, according to the story,
the fishermen, after they had completed their catch, always stopped out
there to clean the fish, throwing the refuse into the water; and from
that comes the inelegant name which the gap now bears. The gap is formed
by a mile wide break in the North Mountain range, and through that
mountain gate, which the Indians call ‘Tee-wee-den,’ or ‘little hole,’
rush the great floods of the Bay of Fundy, twice every twenty-four
hours. They fill the basin, the rivers, and all their tributaries to the
very top of the diked embankments for a distance of over forty miles.”
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, while Miss Ashton quoted from
Longfellow:
“Oh, faithful, indefatigable tides
That ever more, upon God’s errands go,
Now seaward, hearing tidings of the land,
Now landward, bearing tidings of the sea,
And filling every firth and estuary,
Each arm of the great sea, each little creek,
Each thread and filament of water course,
Full with your ministrations of delight!”
“How perfectly that description suits this part of the country,” said
Nancy appreciatively.
They drove up the wooded hill to the big hotel, surrounded by cottages
of various sizes. One of these was assigned to Miss Ashton and her
party; and they took possession at once, for dinner time was fast
approaching.
“What a darling place!” cried Nancy, inspecting the two bedrooms, bath,
and living room.
“I like this room best,” said Jeanette, standing in the living room with
its big fireplace, cretonne hangings, and wonderful view of the basin
into which extended the long government pier from which you may sail to
St. John, New Brunswick.
“You had better postpone your raptures,” suggested Miss Ashton
practically, “if we are all to bathe and dress for dinner. I understand
that this is a very fashionable place, and we want to look our best.”
“I want to ask you something,” said Nancy, detaining Miss Ashton as she
prepared to follow the girls who were on their way to the bedrooms.
“Yes?”
“Jim asked me to go to the dance at the hotel for a while to-night.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I said I’d ask you and let him know later.”
“Well, why don’t you go? He is a very nice boy; and, by the way, I
forgot to tell you that I had quite a long talk with him the other day
and we have some mutual acquaintances.”
“But what about the other girls? Jeanette won’t mind, I’m sure; but I
don’t feel so positive about Martha.”
“She is certainly sensible enough to know that the boy couldn’t be
expected to take three girls to a dance. I’ll think up some way to fix
things.”
Miss Ashton was much pleased with Nancy’s deference to her opinions. She
had chaperoned other girls who had shown far less consideration.
“Thanks a lot,” cried Nancy, running happily off to dress for dinner.
At the table in the big dining room, filled with beautifully dressed
people, Miss Ashton decided, after looking about, that her girls looked
just as pretty as any of the other young people. Nancy was a picture in
the old rose chiffon, with her dark brown fashionably bobbed hair, deep
dimples, and dancing brown eyes. Jeanette, demure and dainty, was in the
blue and silver which blended so well with her blond hair and blue eyes.
The gypsy-like Martha was gay in unrelieved scarlet.
“Nancy has been invited to dance this evening,” began Miss Ashton, while
they were waiting for the soup.
“Oh, how nice!” said Jeanette. “Jim?”
Nancy nodded.
“I thought it might be fun, if you all agree,” continued Miss Ashton,
“to take a taxi uptown and look about a bit. Then perhaps when we get
back, Nancy and Jim will be ready to join us at the cottage.”
“A good idea,” agreed Jeanette.
“And we might have a game of bridge,” proposed Martha, who had succeeded
in stifling her bit of envy; for she _did_ love to dance.
“Fine!” said Nancy heartily. “We’ll go over to the cottage as soon as
you get back.”
Shortly after they left the dining room, Jim came in search of Nancy;
and the others departed in a taxi, with long heavy coats over their
evening clothes.
They prowled about the little town of Digby, buying post cards, stamps,
etc., and seemed to have about exhausted the possibility of purchases,
when Martha exclaimed:
“Let’s buy some funny prizes for our bridge party!”
“Oh, let’s,” agreed Jeanette, entering a little store in the window of
which various souvenirs were displayed, Miss Ashton and Martha
following.
It was difficult to make a selection; for they wanted a prize for each
which would be particularly suited to its recipient; and by turns each
had to withdraw while her prize was being bought. At last, however, they
were ready to return to the hotel, when Martha cried:
“We haven’t any lunch for the party! And what’s a party without a
lunch!”
Jeanette laughed; but Miss Ashton replied:
“I’ll surprise you. I planned that part of it long ago.”
When they got back to the cottage they found Nancy and Jim sitting on
the tiny front porch looking at the moon above the tall pines shining
down upon the little village and the pier with the lighthouse at the
end.
“There was such a crowd that we didn’t care to stay any longer,”
explained Nancy, as they all went into the living room.
The fireman had been in, and now a cheerful wood fire was dancing in the
fireplace. They drew the table close to the hearth, for there was a
chill in the air as soon as the sun went down, and settled themselves
for card playing.
At about eleven o’clock, Miss Ashton, who had been watching the game,
suggested counting up the scores.
“We bought some prizes,” she announced, “and they will now be awarded.”
She had taken the opportunity, while the young people were occupied, to
wrap and label the articles which she now laid before each one.
“You had the highest score, Jim,” said Nancy, “so you open yours first.”
He slowly untied a box, and from it drew forth a toy automobile, while
the girls exclaimed at its appropriateness.
“It winds up and runs, I think,” said Nancy, examining it closely.
“Take it right away from her,” said Martha. “If she gets fussing with a
mechanical toy, it’s good night to everything else.”
Jim put his big hand over it, and Nancy surrendered the toy without
protest.
“Now yours, Nan,” said Jim.
A toy duck emerged from her package, and Jim shouted with laughter.
“Oh!” she cried, delightedly, “it quacks!” as she accidentally pressed a
spring in its neck.
Martha’s prize was a purse labeled, “For Captain Kidd’s coin.”
“Lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’ll put it right in.”
Jeanette received a small clothes brush, for she was always fussing
about dust; and then Martha and Jeanette together presented Miss Ashton
with a small basket filled with tiny dolls, and bearing a label “Some of
your protégées.”
“She is always taking some girl under her wing,” exclaimed Nancy to Jim.
“I did not have much time or many opportunities for providing an
elaborate lunch for this party,” said Miss Ashton, after the prizes had
been examined and laid aside; “but I did my best.”
She laid a paper lunch cloth on the table, and in the center placed a
big box of delicious looking chocolates and bonbons which she had bought
in Boston.
“Don’t start on those,” she directed, as she added a box filled with
fancy English cookies which she had picked up in Halifax, and not opened
before.
“Now as soon as the boy brings over the coffee which I ordered from the
hotel, we can begin.”
He soon appeared with a big tray of cups, spoons, sugar, cream, and pots
of steaming coffee.
“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed food so much,” said Jim, after they had
finished, and were clearing up. “One gets awfully tired of the regular
hotel menus.”
“I’ll bet I never would,” said Martha. “Anyhow, I’d like to try it until
I did.”
“Which would not be long,” finished Nancy.
“Now, folks,” said Miss Ashton, “much as I hate to break up this
delightful party, it is nearly midnight, and we have to take to the road
again in the morning.”
They hastily said good night, and Jim went off to his quarters with a
backward glance at the window which framed Nancy’s rose-colored
loveliness.
“If you hear me holler during the night,” said Martha, “you’ll know that
someone reached in this window and grabbed my feet.”
The girls laughed; but after they were settled in the twin beds on
either side of their own room, Nancy asked Jeanette rather hesitatingly:
“Do you suppose anyone would?”
“Would what?”
“Reach in these windows.”
“Of course not! There are other cottages all around us, and the grounds
are doubtless patrolled during the night.”
“Just the same,” persisted Nancy, “I don’t like sleeping in a little
cottage with windows so close to the ground.”
“Wait until you go to Yellowstone, as you are always talking of, you’ll
sleep in a cabin there.”
The next thing they knew, the sun was shining brightly, and Miss Ashton
was calling:
“Hustle, girls! It’s after seven, and we leave at eight thirty!”
They dressed and packed in a hurry, and crossed the gravel path to the
hotel. When they reached the top of the stone steps leading to the
terrace, they paused to admire the view. The water of the Basin was calm
and blue; the sky crossed by bands of brilliant light; and the
surrounding mountain ranges were a bit misty.
“This view is said to resemble the one across the Bay of Naples,” said
Miss Ashton, as they reluctantly continued on their way to the dining
room.
“It is a lovely place,” said Nancy, when they were once more in the bus,
and rolling past the brilliant flower beds, tall pine and spruce trees,
and out upon the main road. “I had a good time here, and I rather hate
to leave.”
“I hate to think that our trip is almost over,” said Jim, so softly that
none of the others heard him.
Nancy made no reply; but there was a queer little feeling of sadness at
the idea of leaving this lovely land behind.
“That long strip of land to the right,” said Jim presently, “is Digby
Neck; and it separates the Bay of Fundy from St. Mary’s Bay which we
shall follow for many miles.”
“Isn’t this where the Acadians settled when some of them returned from
exile?” asked Miss Ashton.
“Yes; their houses are strung all along this Bay; and sometimes it is
hard to tell when one leaves one village, and enters, the next. Some
have only half a dozen houses; others a larger number. These people
still speak French, and retain all the customs of their ancestors, one
of which is the constant dividing and redividing of their long narrow
farms among their children and grandchildren.”
“There are few signs of life around the houses,” commented Jeanette. “I
should think farmers would have to be up and at work before this time.”
“On an ordinary day they would,” said Jim; “but I understand that this
is one of their Holy Days. They are a very religious people, you know,
and not a stroke of work is done on a Holy Day any more than on a
Sunday. We shall presently meet them all going to church.”
Sure enough, as they entered Weymouth, they saw conveyances of all kinds
gathered about the church; and along the dusty roads toward it plodded
old and young. One man was pushing a baby carriage containing a very
young child, while his wife followed, leading one about three or four
years old by the hand. A rough box wagon passed filled with children of
all ages, sitting on the floor. Another cart had heavy boards laid
across it for seats, all occupied by men, women, and children.
“This is Church Point,” said Jim, “and the spire of St. Mary’s Church,
situated on the point, rises over two hundred feet and can be seen by
every vessel nearing the shore. From far out on the water the sailors
look for the cross on the top of the spire.”
Here too the church was surrounded by vehicles, and many people were
approaching it from all directions.
Some miles farther on, Jim added:
“In this town, the church is unfinished; and the people, as you can see,
are using a tiny wooden chapel. This big new church,” stopping before a
dignified building of gray stone, “has been under construction since
1910. The outside, as you see, is practically done; but the inside is a
mass of scaffolding.”
“Yes,” said Nancy, “I can see some of it through that window. But why
take so long to build one church?”
“The people have not enough money to finish it all at once; and although
they give most generously to the church, it may be ten or fifteen years
before the building is ready for use. They never use a church until it
is entirely completed; and, apparently, do not borrow to build, as we do
in the States, but simply go as fast as their money on hand will
permit.”
“I think it marvelous,” said Miss Ashton, “that even in twenty-five
years the people of a section like this could put up such a church.
Surely the congregation is not large; and it is quite obvious that they
are not possessed of much of this world’s goods.”
“It is wonderful,” admitted Jim; “but you see their whole life centers
around the church, and they give, according to our standards of giving,
far out of proportion to their means.”
“But how on earth do these people ever get anywhere?” asked Martha.
“There is no sign of a railroad.”
“They drive; or if by chance (which is very seldom) they want to go some
distance, the railroad can be reached, although it swings inland from
Digby to Yarmouth instead of following the coast line. There is a reason
for that curve in the Atlantic Dominion Line. It is said that when the
course of the railroad was laid out, the priest who had charge of this
district begged not to have it pass through these little French
villages. His request was granted, and few distractions of the world
outside disturb his people. The position of the priest here is most
important; for he is judge, lawyer, general friend and adviser, as well
as pastor.”
“Seems like a mighty drab sort of life, I think,” said Martha,
skeptically.
“It does look that way to us,” said Miss Ashton, “who have made a
regular fetish of what we call progress. But I wonder if perhaps in the
real happiness that comes from peace and contentment, they haven’t the
better of us.”
“In other words,” said Jeanette softly, “you think it possible that they
have ‘chosen the better part.’”
Everyone was quiet for a while; there is an air of peace in the Acadian
country that seems to command reverence. Soon the region of St. Mary’s
Bay was left behind, and the bus rolled into Yarmouth, reaching the
hotel just in time for lunch.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*IN THE MAIL*
“Be ready at two thirty for a trip to Lower Woods Harbor, please,” said
Jim, as they left the bus; adding in an undertone to Nancy, “our last
ride together.”
“It is hard to realize that,” she replied softly. “It seems as if we
were just going on and on in this bus for the rest of the summer.”
“We’ll probably find some letters here,” said Miss Ashton, as she went
toward the desk in the lobby.
“I hope so,” replied Jeanette. “It seems perfect ages since we left
home.”
“Homesick, Janie?” inquired Martha.
“Oh, no; only I do love to get mail; and it seemed queer to be without
it all this time.”
“Well, here’s plenty of it,” said Miss Ashton, distributing it rapidly.
“Two for Jeanette, three for Martha, five for Nancy, and four for
myself.”
“Let’s go somewhere and read it all; so we can exchange news,” proposed
Martha.
“A very good idea. That ‘somewhere’ might just as well be one of our
rooms,” agreed Miss Ashton, leading the way to the elevator, to which a
bell boy had already preceded them with the luggage. They got off at the
third floor, where two rooms had been reserved for them. They were a bit
disappointed to find that they were not connecting; one, a small room,
was near the end of the corridor; the other, much larger, was near the
stairs.
“My goodness,” exclaimed Martha, as they entered the larger one. “You
could give a dance here!”
A huge double bed near the fireplace, a single beside the two long
windows (from which they could see the wharf), a big wardrobe, an
immense dresser, a fair-sized square table and three chairs only partly
filled the old-fashioned room; and its very high ceilings accentuated
its huge proportions.
“You could take the single bed if you wanted to, Mart,” proposed Nancy;
“and give Miss Ashton a chance to get a little real sleep. You see, we
know how restless she is at night, as well as by day,” she added to Miss
Ashton.
“Fix it up any way to suit yourselves,” she replied; “and that will
please me. Now for our mail.”
For several minutes there was no sound except the opening of envelopes
and the turning of pages. When everyone had read all her communications,
they began to exchange bits of information.
“One of mine,” said Miss Ashton, “is from Madelon. Her foster mother is
still confined to her bed, and she has no idea when she will be able to
come back to Boston.”
“What a shame!” cried Nancy.
“Poor Madelon!” said Jeanette softly. “She must feel terribly lonely up
there now, after having lived in a city like Boston.”
“I don’t know her at all,” said Martha; “but let’s all get her some
little thing and mail to her at different times.”
“That is a very nice idea,” approved Miss Ashton. “She said to tell you
girls how much she regretted being unable to show you Boston, which she
likes so well. The rest of my letters are from old or prospective
patients, and would not interest you particularly.”
“One of mine,” said Jeanette, “is from home. Mother spent Monday with
your mother, Nan, and she said Polly kept calling, ‘Where is Nancy?’ She
seemed to think Mother should know. My other letter is from Mrs.
Perkins, and encloses one from Joey. Wait. I’ll read them both to you.
Mrs. Perkins says:
“‘I was so glad to get your card, and to know that you and your
special pals were going to have such a delightful trip. Nova
Scotia is a place I always thought I should like to see. Perhaps
if your reports of it are enticing, I may yet visit it some day.
When you come back to college, you might give us a travel talk;
and, by the way, there might be a surprise here awaiting your
return. Don’t write and ask me what it is; for I shall not tell
you. _That_ would spoil the surprise.
“‘The Harris family is getting along very well. One of Pauline’s
office friends invited her to go on a vacation trip to Toronto,
for both of them happened to get the same two weeks. The other
girl’s people live there; so it was a question simply of the
fare for Pauline; and that was managed quite nicely——’”
“Which means that she supplied the money herself,” interrupted Nancy.
“‘Joey’” [continued Jeanette], “‘has been rather lonely this
summer, in spite of all the attention lavished on him by the
Harrises and the college people who live in town. He misses, I
think, the crowd and bustle of college life. I enclose a note
from him.
“‘Love to you and your pals,
“‘Alicia Perkins.’”
“And here is Joey’s note,” she went on; “of course the spelling is
superb, so you had better read it for yourselves.” She passed it on, and
they all read:
“Dee Mis Janete, Hop you ar havin a fin time but com bac soon
THanks fur the cards Rollo sends lov.
“Joey.”
“And who, pray, is Joey?” inquired Miss Ashton.
“Oh, we forgot,” cried Nancy. “You don’t know anything about Joey, or
Mrs. Perkins either; do you?”
All three of the girls tried to explain at once; so Miss Ashton had to
exercise her imagination in spots to piece together the disjointed,
interrupted bits of information about the little crippled boy who
belonged to one of the college janitors, and had been taken up by the
students as a sort of protégé; and of the fine Mrs. Perkins who was a
member of the girls’ club for helping others.
“Poor little fellow,” she said, when the trio had finished. “Seems to me
he should have some simple lessons to help occupy him, as well as to
develop his mind.”
“Perhaps when we go back, he will be able to,” replied Jeanette
thoughtfully. “He really wasn’t well enough for anything but play last
year. Some days even that was too much of an exertion.”
“Now, Nannie,” said Martha. “What news have you to contribute?”
“The first letter I read was from Mother,” said Nancy. “Dad has bought a
dog—a big collie, which they have named Peter; and Polly just can’t bear
him. _He_, however, is quite curious about _her_, and frequently stands
for some minutes in front of the cage, gazing at her, undisturbed
apparently by her shrieks of rage and uncomplimentary remarks.
“Mother has been dividing her spare time, since we left, between
instructing a new maid, and sewing for a family whose house and
belongings were badly damaged by fire. She says she has been a regular
pest to the neighbors because she has asked all of them for cast-off
clothing and furniture. Her struggles with the maid must be very funny;
for she can’t speak a word of Italian, nor the girl a syllable of
English. She tried to explain to Benita the other day that the floors in
the bedrooms must be gone over with the dust mop every day, and showed
her how the lint gathered under the beds where there were a couple of
pairs of slippers. The next morning after the upstairs work was
finished, Mother was horrified to find her slippers set carefully on her
lovely orchid rayon dresser spread! She learned from. Benita’s pantomime
explanations that if the slippers were not kept under the bed there
would be nothing to catch the dust. Now Mother puts all her footwear in
the closet, where, she says, it really belongs after all. Mother hurt
her ankle the other day (it was nothing serious, but she had to keep off
of it for a day); and she sent Benita out to get the mail, from the box.
She tried by gesticulations to get her to understand what she wanted;
but from the noise on the porch she wondered what on earth Benita was
doing. It seems that our maid is quite a muscular person; for what do
you suppose she did? She got the wrong idea from Mother’s motions about
taking something out of a box, and actually ripped the flower box off
the railing of the porch and brought it in! Mother is surely having some
fun, but I imagine it is rather trying. That is about all of interest in
her letter.”
“And the second one?” urged Martha.
“That is from Uncle John. They have added a sun parlor to the house,
Janie, on the south side, you know, near the fence where the lizards sun
themselves——”
“Lizards, ugh!” shuddered Martha.
“Oh, Mart, you wouldn’t mind them. They are dear little things, some of
them quite tame.”
“No recommendations at all to my way of thinking,” retorted Martha. “The
wilder the better, I should say, if being wild makes them keep away from
me.”
“What else did the Doctor say?” inquired Jeanette, who was very fond of
Nancy’s uncle.
“He saw Madame the other day; in fact, she invited them over for dinner.
She told him that she is considering getting a companion. Her husband is
so occupied with some kind of writing that he is doing, that she is left
alone a great deal of the time; and she would like a young girl who
would liven up the house a bit. She says that she would be prepare to
treat the right kind of a girl like a daughter, entertain for her, and
all that. She wanted to know if Uncle could recommend anyone. He did not
know of any possibilities, but promised to keep his eyes open.”
“Pauline!” cried Jeanette.
“Janie, you’re a genius! I wonder if she would go!” exclaimed Nancy.
“I’ll write Uncle to-night, and tell him all about her.”
“And the third epistle?” teased Martha, who had seen an envelope
addressed in a masculine hand.
“That’s from Curtis,” replied Nancy, without a trace of
self-consciousness or embarrassment. “He has been sent out to Portland.”
“Maine?” asked Martha, hopefully. “That’s isn’t so far from here. We
might stop over on the way home.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, dear,” answered Nancy, sweetly, “but I said
_out_ not _up_, for the Portland in question happens to be in Oregon.”
“‘Now that’s too bad! That’s just too bad!’” sighed Martha.
Everybody laughed; for they had all recently seen “On with the Show” and
recognized the quotation at once.
“Curtis wrote only a note; for he had just arrived, and had not yet seen
anything interesting. This other letter,” she continued, “is from Phil
Spenser.”
“Oh, are he and Tom going to meet us in Boston as they spoke of doing?”
asked Jeanette.
“Time alone can tell,” replied Nancy.
“They started out in Tom’s old Ford coupe, intending to take in quite a
part of the Adirondacks on the way. Thinking to make better time, or
merely for the experience, I don’t know which, they drove all one night,
instead of putting up anywhere. They made a wrong turn at some point or
other, which took them off the main highway onto a very deserted road,
where they were held up by a couple of armed men——”
“How perfectly _thrilling_!” cried Martha.
“Who relieved them of all their money, their watches, etc., punctured
all the tires, and then rode off in their own little car. The boys
stayed there until morning, and then got a passing motorist from the
highway to tow them to the nearest garage. They had no money to pay for
repairs; so made arrangements with the garage owner to stay and work out
their bill. They worked there for a week, and then started on, almost
penniless, for Lake Placid——”
“But why didn’t they send home for some money?” demanded Martha.
“Because Tom had taken with him all he could afford to spend on
vacation, and Mr. Spenser, under protest, had furnished Phil with a like
amount.”
“I thought the Spensers had quite a lot of money,” said Jeanette.
“They have, I believe; but Mr. Spenser thinks Phil should earn what he
wants to spend on pleasure. Phil says his dad was quite annoyed because
he preferred going off with Tom to working all the rest of the summer in
the Electric Company’s office. I imagine it was only the fact that Tom
begged for Phil’s company that made Mr. Spenser consent at all. He feels
that Tom has rather a good effect on Phil, I understand. But, to go on
with the story—they tried all the hotels to see if they could get jobs,
and finally found one where one of the elevator boys had just been sent
to the hospital; so Tom was taken on as a sub. After some more wandering
about, Phil found a place with an old man who has a farm a little way up
the lake, and who supplies the hotels with chickens and eggs. He used to
deliver his wares himself in an old-fashioned buggy; but that method is
too slow now. He bought a Ford truck, and then discovered that he
couldn’t learn to run it. Phil fortunately appeared on the scene at that
particular moment, and was hired at once.”
“Just imagine,” cried Martha, “the superior Phil Spenser driving up to
those big hotels with a load of chickens and eggs. It’s the funniest
thing I have ever heard!”
“So that is what they are doing now,” concluded Nancy; “and their
meeting us all depends on whether they can earn enough money before we
go home.”
She picked up another letter. “This,” she said, “is from Ethel King——”
“Oh, _what_ does she say about Emma?” inquired Jeanette eagerly.
“I’ll read it to you.
“‘Dear Girls:
“‘To say that I was pleasantly surprised when Emma stepped off
the train at Plattsburg is to put it mildly. Her hair looks just
fine, and her pride in her new bob is very funny. She keeps
patting it, and feeling of it to see if it is still there. Later
on she’ll have to be broken of that. However, Marian will teach,
or try to teach, her repose of manner. Did you ever see
_any_body practice it so perfectly as our “Mary Ann”? She never
touches her clothing or herself, or anything at all, in fact,
unnecessarily. I understand that her mother is painfully neat
and particular—(what a jolt poor Emma will give her!)—and I
suppose Marian took her ways quite naturally, or was trained
into them.
“‘Emma’s wardrobe is perfect, and she really takes pains to keep
her things nice. I suspect that was some of Jeanette’s good
work. Her manners, too, are greatly improved, and she does not
hang onto one’s waist or neck quite so persistently as of yore.
“‘You will want to know, I suppose, what little Ethel did for
her. Well, Mother and I talked things over beforehand—for, of
course, I had to confide in her—and we decided to teach our
mutual friend the joys of athletic exercise. We get the morning
setting-up series over the radio; so the very first day I routed
her out and made her do them with me; and ditto the rest of the
days. Twice a day we went into the water, and Emma learned to
swim a little. We went for tramps through the woods, and along
the shore; and had picnic suppers. In fact, as I said, outdoor
exercise was the theme of our entertainment. At the end of the
week, Emma really had a little color, and had straightened up
considerably.
“‘Esther expected to interest her in gym work when she went to
Moore’s; so I imagine when we see Emma again she will have lost
that distressing stoop, and rounded shoulders. I’m really very
anxious to see what the entire summer will do for her. I can’t
help thinking, though, that whatever does come out of it, the
most credit should go to you two. The start you gave her in
those two weeks was incredible. But all the C.M.’s are so
different, and ride such diverse hobbies, that the composite
result should be at least interesting, if not inspiring.
“‘Do run up here, if you can, before the summer is over, any or
all of you. Love,
“‘Ethel’”
“What might be wrong with this Emma!” asked Miss Ashton, and again the
three all enlightened her at once.
“Glad you are being such friends in need,” was her brief comment, when
they had finished. “And now let’s get ready for lunch.”
“Clams,” read Jeanette from the menu, when they were seated at the
table. “I never ate any, but I understand they’re very popular here.”
“No time like the present,” suggested Nancy a bit absently, her eyes
roving about the dining room.
“But I shouldn’t know how to eat them,” said Jeanette, wavering between
her desire to taste a new food, and reluctance to appear awkward in such
a public place.
“I’ll show you,” offered Martha.
“Do you really know how?” asked Jeanette, a bit doubtfully.
“Of course I do. I went to a couple of clam bakes last summer.”
When a cup of melted butter, another of hot water, and a big dish of
steaming clams were set before her, Jeanette looked really frightened.
“Oh, I shouldn’t have ordered them. I don’t know what to do first.”
“You open them this way,” said Martha, demonstrating them as she talked;
“pull off this piece, which I always called its ear——”
“Why?” asked Jeanette, watching anxiously.
“Because that part is not good. Then dip the clam into water, to wash
the sand out, then in the melted butter, and then swallow it.”
“You take it in your fingers?” asked Jeanette in horrified tones.
“Of course.”
“Are you _sure_?”
“Why, yes. Go ahead, and don’t be silly!”
Slowly and awkwardly, Jeanette repeated the processes which Martha had
demonstrated.
“Everybody is looking at me,” she said, flushing hotly.
“Everybody is far too interested in his own lunch to bother looking at
you,” Miss Ashton assured her.
“I’m afraid this isn’t the right way to do it,” protested Jeanette, over
the third clam. “It seems so sort of messy.”
“I certainly would have no object in deceiving you,” retorted Martha, a
bit tartly. “That man at the next table just got some. Watch him and see
what he does.”
Rather to Jeanette’s surprise, and to Martha’s complete satisfaction,
their neighbor employed the same method.
“You’re right, Mart,” admitted Jeanette. “I don’t mean that I actually
doubted your word; but, as I said, the process is so unattractive.”
“I agree with you,” said Nancy. “Someone ought to invent a more
gracefully way of handling them.”
“Someone ought to invent a means of keeping the time from passing so
quickly,” observed Miss Ashton. “We are due in the bus in ten minutes.”
A light fog was beginning to be seen and felt as they took their old
places in the bus.
“Couldn’t you have ordered a better afternoon?” asked Martha saucily of
Jim as they left the hotel behind. “And don’t forget that you promised
to show us some ox teams to-day. In fact, you told us we’d see a lot
yesterday, and not even one appeared.”
“I’ll do my best,” was Jim’s brief reply. He was not much of a talker at
any time, except when his work required it; but this afternoon he was
more quiet than ever before. Nancy, too, was strangely silent.
The country through which they were riding was sterner, more rugged than
any they had yet seen; now rocky shores, rolling stony pastures, few
houses, bleak strips of beach seen through a heavy mist, with white
billows of fog in the background ready to roll in upon the land at any
minute and envelop everything in its baffling embrace.
“Here comes your ox team, Mart,” said Jeanette presently, as they saw in
the near distance a team pulling a long low wagon loaded with stone.
Jim good-naturedly stopped the bus and let the girls get out to take a
picture of the animals at a watering trough where they paused for a
drink.
“Why, they have no harness,” said Jeanette, “only that heavy wooden yoke
laid across their necks and binding their heads together. How do you
guide them?” she asked of the driver.
“With this small whip, Miss, and my directions,” replied the man.
“Poor things!” said Nancy, after they had climbed back into the bus
again. “They look so sad, and lumber along so bent down that it really
is depressing. The expression in their eyes is truly pathetic. I almost
wish I hadn’t gotten out to look at them.”
The girls laughed, but Jim looked down understandingly at Nancy. Jim,
who slowed down the big bus to almost a standstill if even a chicken
crossed the road in front of it!
“These people,” he said, after a moment, “are very proud of their fine
oxen, and take pains to have them perfectly matched. If one of a team
happens to die, they travel all over the country, if need be, to find an
exact match for the survivor.”
“Why do they prefer them to horses, I wonder,” said Miss Ashton.
“Because they are cheaper to feed. They are peculiar to Nova Scotia; for
nowhere else in Canada are they still used.”
The fog billows gathered themselves together, and rolled along the
surface of the water, closer and closer to the land.
“What are those?” asked Nancy, pointing to a stack of crate-like objects
near a fisherman’s hut.
“Lobster pots,” said Jim; “and that pile of stakes with the ball-like
colored tops are markers.”
At the next pile, which happened to be close beside the road, he stopped
and got out; and they all followed him to see what the strange looking
cages were really like.
The base of the pot was rectangular in shape, and between two and three
feet long, and a foot and a half wide. It was made of narrow strips of
wood; and the sides and top were formed, in a semicircle, of similar
narrow strips bent and fastened to the base, into which some flat stones
are wedged to give weight, and help sink them. The trap is lined with
coarse net, and openings are left at the side and ends, with the net so
arranged that the lobsters can get in, but once in, cannot get out. The
box-like cage is let down in the water where lobsters are known to be
plentiful, and a marker is set up beside it. The lobster is so full of
curiosity that he crawls into the trap, but finds it more difficult to
get out again. Some of the pots are so constructed as to catch four
lobsters at one time.
“You will notice,” said Jim, “that the markers are of different colors
and combinations of color. Every fisherman in a section has his own, and
no one else dares to touch the trap guarded by the markers of another.”
Jeanette had been busy pulling wild roses from the thicket beside which
they were standing; and when they got back into the car, presented each
person with a fragrant spray. Some of these sprays were carelessly
thrown away as the flowers wilted; but two of them were carefully
pressed and preserved for many years.
“Oh, what is going on here?” cried Martha, as they approached a small
village.
Flags, large and small, the blue one of New Scotland, the Canadian maple
leaf, the Union Jack, the tricolor of France all strung along the
roadside; also on the houses, barns, trees, and even merely stuck into
the ground. Even the tiniest, poorest cottage proudly flaunted its bit
of loyalty. The grounds of the church were surrounded with conveyances
of all types, from brand new Fords to muddy canopied surreys. Crowds of
people were standing about the building, some setting up tables, some
carrying chairs, some helping the tall young priest place the donations
of food and fancy articles which would presently be sold. Between two
trees stretched a banner of blue, bearing in white letters the words
“Old Home Week.” For miles, the roads were dotted with men, women, and
children of all ages, dressed in their best, hurrying eagerly along on
foot to take part in the festival.
Jim prolonged the drive as much as possible, but at last it came to an
end; and they drew up once more before the hotel.
“Well, my boy,” said Miss Ashton, “we have enjoyed the trip immensely,
and are indeed sorry that it is over. Look me up when you get back to
Boston, if you ever happen to feel like it. Here’s my card.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I shall. I live in Cambridge, but that’s only across
the river, as you know.”
Jeanette and Martha then said good-by, and Jeanette considerately took
Martha by the arm, and followed Miss Ashton into the hotel.
“And have you enjoyed it all?” asked Jim, when he and Nancy were left
alone.
“Just wonderfully,” replied Nancy honestly. “The most of any trip I have
ever taken.”
“I wish I had a stop-over here so I could show you the town; but I go
back to Digby first thing in the morning, as soon as the boat comes in.
Do you suppose you could go out to-night for a walk, or are you too
tired?”
“I’ve done nothing to tire me,” said Nancy, smiling. “And I’m sure Miss
Ashton won’t mind.”
“Then I’ll call for you at—say eight?”
“Yes; I’ll be all ready.”
They could not have told you where they walked that evening, nor what
they said; but their conversation was entirely of themselves.
Nancy heard all about Jim’s parents, and his older brother; about his
plans and hopes for the future; his experiences in prep school, and at
college. She in turn told him all about herself and her friends.
“I wish I were going back on the boat with you to-morrow night,” he
said, as they rested on the enclosed porch for a few minutes before
parting for good.
“It would be very nice, if you could,” she said. “When do you expect to
go back?”
“I have no idea. Whenever orders come. Well, you must get some sleep;
for you’ll want to shop in the morning, I suspect. There are some stores
here which I guess would interest girls.”
Reluctantly they rose, and stood silent for a moment.
“Will you write, Nancy?”
“Yes.”
Poor Jim! He could think of many things which he would like to say, but
was too bashful, too repressed to put them into words.
They clasped hands; then Jim ran down the steps, turning to salute when
he reached the sidewalk.
Nancy did not feel like joining the others just yet; so she selected a
far corner of the nearly deserted writing room and began a letter to her
mother. Miss Ashton peered in at her a couple of times, and then went
upstairs again without disturbing her.
“Nan is writing,” she said to the other two girls. “I imagine she will
be up after a while. I, for one, am going right to bed.”
She was as good as her word; but she lay for several hours, turning over
an idea in her mind. When she had settled it to her satisfaction, and
not until then, she fell asleep.
In the meantime Jeanette and Martha had also retired, and lay talking
across the room.
“It seems to me,” said Martha, “that somebody has quite a case on
somebody else.”
“Your statement is a trifle ambiguous,” laughed Jeanette, “but I know
what you mean.”
“And don’t you think so, too?” persisted Martha.
“Yes, I do; but for pity’s sake don’t let Nan know that you notice it.
She just hates any of what she calls ‘foolishness over the boys.’”
“That’s the funny part of it,” said Martha. “I don’t believe she
realizes that Jim is just crazy about her.”
“Or that she cares for him,” added Jeanette, to herself.
“Do you?”
“No-o-o,” yawned Jeanette. “I’m terribly sleepy. Let’s settle down.”
It would be easier for Nancy if they were both asleep when she came up,
and she could slip into bed without having to talk. Martha was soon
breathing heavily; but Jeanette did not succeed in getting to sleep
until long after Nancy came to bed.
*CHAPTER IX*
*RAMBLES ABOUT YARMOUTH*
“What are we to do to-day?” asked Martha at the breakfast table.
“Shop, and see the town,” suggested Jeanette.
“Suits me,” said Nancy, when they all waited for her comments. Just a
few minutes before, she had heard the whistle of a boat from the wharf.
The steamer from Boston must have docked, and the big bus was down there
now ready for a new cargo of passengers. What would this crowd be like?
She wondered.
“I have some letters to write; so I’ll have to be excused,” said Miss
Ashton. “If I finish in time, I may hunt you up; if not, we’ll all meet
here at lunch time.”
An hour later, the three girls were strolling along the main street,
stopping in various stores to look at the goods most attractively
displayed.
“I could spend a day in there,” said Nancy, as they left a stationer’s
store, where English books and magazines invited one to browse.
“It’s funny, I suppose; but I never thought of their having different
magazines from ours,” said Martha.
“I know. It gives one a kind of a start to look at the display, and not
see a name one recognizes,” remarked Jeanette.
“I’d love to read them all, and compare them with similar publications
of ours,” said Nancy.
“We might buy Joey one of those books for small boys,” suggested
Jeanette.
“That’s so,” and Nancy darted back into the store to select one.
When she came out, they wandered on again until they came to a shop
where all kinds of gifts were sold.
“Don’t you think it would be nice,” said Jeanette, “if we were all to
put together and get some little souvenir for Miss Ashton? It need not
be very expensive, but something that she could keep as a memento of
this trip.”
“I think that would be fine,” agreed Nancy. “She has been just wonderful
to us.”
“So do I,” added Martha. “What shall we get?”
They were inside now, and gazing helplessly at the fascinating array.
“One of these water colors of Nova Scotian scenery,” suggested Jeanette,
picking one up as she spoke.
When there were three to be suited, and each picture they looked at was
more beautiful than the last, the process of making a decision was a
lengthy one. At last, however, it was accomplished to everyone’s
satisfaction; and to the relief of the clerk.
“Dear, I’d just love to buy some of these for all my relatives and
friends,” said Martha, hanging longingly over a tray of sparkling
amethysts.
“I’m going to get a pin for Mother,” said Nancy; “but I’m afraid that
will be the extent of my purchases.”
“I thought we were going to get something for Madelon, as you call her,”
said Martha.
“Yes, we were—or rather, we are,” replied Jeanette. “Would one of these
pendants be nice?”
“Just the thing, I should say,” agreed Nancy. So they selected a dainty
silver chain and a long slender pendant set with a single amethyst.
“I’ve just _got_ to have it,” murmured Martha, presently.
“Got to have what, Mart?” asked Jeanette.
“That ring. Did you ever in all your life see such a beauty?”
It was lovely—a dinner ring with an oblong amethyst of one of the
deepest violet shades.
“Well, why don’t you buy it then?” asked Nancy, a bit impatiently. She
was restless, and eager now to move on.
“I can’t quite make up my mind. It’s quite expensive and yet I do want
it so much.”
“Well, think it over, Mart,” suggested Jeanette, “and come back here
this afternoon if you decide you can’t get along without it.”
“I heard that there are wonderful bargains in sweaters here,” said
Martha, as they went out upon the street again; “and I’d like to find
them.”
After a little search, they found the shop where woolens of all kinds
were sold, and Martha went into raptures over the various articles.
“I’m going to get that doll for Ellen Harris, and this scarf for Betty——
“Do you think that is really wise?” interrupted Jeanette.
“What?”
“Taking presents to those children?”
“Why not?”
“If it were only this once, it might not matter so much; but don’t you
see that you will be creating a precedent? Like all children, and some
grown-ups, they will then look for souvenirs every time you or any of us
go away in the future. One can’t always be bringing things, and yet,
naturally, you hate to disappoint children.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Martha slowly. “But the things _are_
darling.”
“Nancy and I decided when we first began to go on trips that we’d each
take our mother some little gift, but no one else. Wholesale buying of
souvenirs is very expensive, and sometimes is the cause of much jealousy
and dissatisfaction. There is no good stopping place, once you have
begun. If you really want to buy any of these things for friends, I
would suggest that you get them as Christmas gifts. Lots of people buy
their gifts when on their vacations.”
“Well, I don’t know about buying Christmas gifts as early as this,” said
Martha, after thinking a minute; “but anyhow I’m going to get a sweater
for myself. This rose one is lovely. Don’t you think so?”
“It is sweet,” said Jeanette; “but would it go with everything?”
“Always the careful shopper, Janie,” laughed Nancy.
“I suppose it wouldn’t go with everything,” admitted Martha, putting it
hack reluctantly. “I’ll take this tan one, I guess. That gray and violet
I’ll buy for Mother. And I’ve always taken something to Christine, the
girl I pal around with at home. I’ll buy the powder blue one for her.”
While the purchases were being wrapped up, Martha was looking over more
sweaters; and Nancy heard her murmur to herself.
“What _are_ you saying, Mart?” she asked. “You know it’s a bad sign,
they say, when you begin talking to yourself.”
“I was just thinking that scarlet sweater would be exactly the thing I
need for skating this winter. I think I’ll take that one too,” pointing
it out to the clerk.
“For pity’s sake, let’s get her out of here,” whispered Nancy to
Jeanette; “or she’ll have to walk home.”
“And won’t we even get the things for Joey?” asked Martha, when they
were on the street again, loath to bring to a close the shopping
expedition which she so dearly loved.
“Oh, we’ll each get some simple amusing toy for him. Nobody would
question our remembering a sick child.”
They stopped in another shop and selected a game, a puzzle, and a new
collar for Rollo; and then they went on for a walk through the
residential section of the town.
“Did you ever _see_ such flower gardens?” asked Jeanette, entranced.
“Or such climbing roses?” added Nancy, pointing out a house where, on
trellises at either side of the front door, with its brass knocker, red
roses ran to the very roof.
“These beautifully trimmed hedges of English hawthorne attract me,” said
Martha. “Imagine them when they are covered with deep rose-colored
blossoms!”
“The guidebook says Yarmouth is famous for rose gardens, velvet-green
lawns, and well-trimmed hedge rows,” said Jeanette. “Years ago it was
also famous for shipbuilding, and the ships made here went all over the
world. Now it is the principal port for passenger and freight service
between Nova Scotia and the United States.”
“Oh, look at those darling colored children,” cried Martha. “I must get
a picture of them.” They stood waiting, while the oldest girl pulled,
pushed, and coaxed the younger children into a straight line; smoothed
their fuzzy hair, and their clothing, joined their hands, and then took
her place at the head of the row.
“Do you know that it is nearly lunch time?” asked Nancy, as Martha
lingered to visit with the children.
“That’s so! How the morning has flown! We’ll have to run so as not to
keep Miss Ashton waiting. Come on!” And clutching them by the arms,
Martha started toward the hotel at a very rapid pace.
“Martha,” objected Jeanette, “do slow up a bit. They don’t dash around
here the way we do down in the States. People will think we are crazy,
or going to a fire or something.”
“We are going to something,” laughed Martha, slackening her speed, “our
lunch. Some more clams, Janie, now that you know how to eat them!”
“Never!”
“Now I suppose we shall have to pack,” groaned Martha, as they left the
dining room after lunch. “That’s the only part of a trip that I don’t
like.”
“I want to consult you girls,” said Miss Ashton. “Will you come in here,
please?” entering the white parlor on the opposite side of the hall.
“I wonder what has happened,” thought Jeanette anxiously; for their
chaperon looked very serious.