WITH PREJUDICE
"Priscilla," said Amy, as they finished breakfast on their first morning
at Wolfville, "you are no longer homesick."
"Did I say I was homesick?"
"Perhaps not in words, though you have looked it a great many times. But
I noticed a change during our last week in Annapolis; you have seemed
perfectly cheerful ever since."
"Oh, I'm sorry," responded the over-conscientious Priscilla, "if I
seemed less than cheerful before; it was really very wrong in me, for
you and your mother have been so kind, and Martine is so very--" here
she hesitated for a moment--"so very lively."
Amy smiled at Priscilla's earnestness.
"To most persons you would have seemed perfectly cheerful, but little
things have shown me that your heart was not wholly with us."
"That was only because I had never before been altogether away from my
family. But if there has been any change lately, it has been on account
of Eunice. She seems to me the most sensible person I have ever known,
and I hope that she can carry out her plan of going to college. If papa
had lived I could have done something for her, but now I can't make any
promises for the future, because mamma says that we shall have to be
very careful about spending for a few years."
"I'm glad, however," responded Amy, "that you have this interest in
Eunice, even if you cannot do all that you would like to do for her; it
is rather curious that each of us should have found a protege in the
course of our travels; Yvonne, Pierre, and Eunice, each one so unlike
the others, and yet all of them rather interesting."
"Martine, of course, can accomplish the most," and Priscilla sighed. "I
imagine that her father and mother never say 'no' to her."
"Money isn't everything," replied Amy, "and you and I can do more or
less for Eunice and Pierre in spite of the fact that time and thought
are the most we can give. I have often noticed that the person who has a
real interest in the welfare of some one else can really accomplish
things in better ways than by spending money."
"Balfour wouldn't let any one spend much money on Eunice; he is so very
independent, and wishes always to stand on his own feet. I never saw any
one just like him."
"I agree with you, Priscilla, and I feel that we owe much to him for all
he did for us in Annapolis; besides, he has given mother one or two
letters to people in Wolfville, so that I fancy we shall be somewhat
indebted to him here."
A few moments later Amy, in her little bedroom, reread a letter received
from Fritz that morning. Its tone was so cheerful that it ought to have
had an exhilarating effect on her; on the contrary, she was now less
happy than before she received it. Fritz and his friend had already
reached Chester on the east coast, and he wrote most enthusiastically of
the charms of this little watering-place. Not one word of regret did he
utter now over his separation from Mrs. Redmond's party. His time was
apparently fully occupied with boating and driving excursions and other
pleasures of the conventional summer resort. One sentence only, at the
end, suggested that he had not forgotten what he had previously said to
Amy.
"I am surprised that you have travelled so comfortably, with not a
single accident to interfere with your pleasure; but if anything
disagreeable should happen, then perhaps you will wish that you had some
stronger person to help you out of your difficulty."
With a sigh Amy laid the letter in her bureau drawer, and as she did so
her eye fell on an envelope addressed to Martine. Evidently she had
picked it up with her own letters when she had brought them upstairs.
The envelope was empty and hardly worth returning, but as she took it to
drop into the waste basket, she looked, as one will, at the postmark. To
her surprise, it was the same, "Chester," as on her own letter from
Fritz. Then her mind flew back to the morning at Yarmouth, when she
thought she had seen Martine wheeling down the side street with an
unknown youth. The inference was now plain--in some way Martine had made
the acquaintance of Fritz's friend, and was keeping up a correspondence
with him. There was nothing very wrong in this in itself, except that it
implied on Martine's part a certain amount of deception. "Taps," as
Fritz called him, might have been a perfectly desirable friend for all
the girls, and Fritz himself might have introduced him to Martine. She
had had no opportunity to meet him on the boat. Yet even had he been an
old friend of hers, there seemed to be no reason why she should not
speak frankly about him. The discovery of this envelope reconciled Amy
completely to Fritz's banishment. It was just as well that he and his
friend had been sent off by themselves.
As to Martine, Amy decided that at present it was hardly well to speak
to her of the letter, or even mention it to Mrs. Redmond. But for the
rest of the day she was less cordial than usual toward Martine, and the
young girl felt the change.
When Amy returned to the piazza, where she had left the others, she
found only her mother and Martine. In a moment Priscilla joined them,
looking bright and happy, and with unusual color in her fair cheeks.
"I've been down the street," she said, "and the town is so attractive
that you must all come with me on an exploring tour; I can't tell why,
but I feel more at home here than in most places. Wolfville seems less
English than Annapolis; in fact, it is more like one of our own New
England towns."
"That, I dare say," rejoined Mrs. Redmond, "is partly because it is a
college town, but more likely because it was settled by Americans. I
have an idea that hardly a Loyalist came here after the Revolution."
"Settled by Americans?" cried Martine. "Wasn't this all French country
through here?"
"Yes--once--my dear. You remember, however, that after the French were
deported, their lands were granted to colonists from New England. Those
who came to this part of Nova Scotia were chiefly from Connecticut, and
Wolfville is named for a well-known family of these colonists, named De
Wolfe."
"Then this isn't Grand Pre?"
"Oh, no; there is still a Grand Pre two or three miles to the west, with
relics and memories without end, of Evangeline and Basil."
"Let us go there, then, as soon as we can," cried Martine.
"Not yet, my dear. We would better first see something nearer at hand;
Mr. Knight, Balfour's friend, has offered to drive us to Grand Pre this
afternoon, and if this suits you all, I will send him a reply at once."
The three girls, agreeing that they should enjoy the afternoon drive,
fell in with Mrs. Redmond's suggestion for a morning walk.
"I have been advised," said Mrs. Redmond, "to take a road behind the
college, leading to the top of the ridge, where we can get a fine view
of the Gaspereau Valley."
Though it was a steep hill, the view from the summit repaid them by its
surpassing beauty. The deep valley, bordered with trees of varying
shades of green, the blue river flowing between, and toward its mouths
winding in and out among the marshes, formed a scene long to be
remembered.
"If we could see to the very mouth," said Mrs. Redmond, "and bring our
imagination into full play, we could picture the poor Acadians gathered
in forlorn groups waiting to be dragged away to the English transports.
Their pleasant homes were found all along the sides of this valley, as
well as at Grand Pre. Undoubtedly it is Longfellow's poem that has given
the latter place its greater prominence."
Some distance along the ridge the four Americans continued to walk,
until they reached a point from which they had a wider view; then for
the first time their eyes fell on the clear waters of Minas Basin. On
its farther shore rose a high, red bluff.
"Bluff," at least, was what Martine called it, but Priscilla, repeating
her words, exclaimed:
"No, no, it's a mountain; it must be."
Mrs. Redmond smiled at the emphasis that each girl threw into her words.
"My dear children," she exclaimed, "I should think that you'd at once
know Blomidon; surely you must often have seen it pictured. Blomidon,
you remember, was the home of Glooscap, the deity of the Micmacs, and
Minas Basin was his beaver pond. Poets and painters have been inspired
by Blomidon, and I imagine, Martine, that you and I will even make some
attempt to reproduce its beauty."
"Ah," sighed Martine, "but we could never give the effect of that light
and shade on the side of the mountain, for it really is a mountain, as
Priscilla says; and there's something quite wonderful in that deep red
that stands out so between the sky and the water."
"From Grand Pre we'll have an even better view, I'm told, of Blomidon.
You are so fond of jewels, Martine, that you'll be tempted to cross the
Basin to hunt for amethysts."
"That reminds me," said Amy, "of something I read the other day; when De
Monts visited the Basin, he called Blomidon, 'Cap d'Or.' Among the
amethysts that he found on an island near by was one of extraordinary
size, which he took back to France and presented to the King and Queen,
who had it set among the crown jewels."
"We cannot linger here much longer," said Mrs. Redmond; "if we take this
lower road, it will probably bring us into the business section, and
then we can walk back home, along the main street."
When they had done their errands and were perhaps half-way home, Mrs.
Redmond, who was ahead, looked back for a moment.
"Here, Amy, is something especially for you."
Amy hurried on and found herself at the entrance of a little graveyard.
"Oh, mamma, you are laughing at me."
There was a suspicious smile on Mrs. Redmond's lips as she said:
"Every one, my dear child, knows your _penchant_ for old graveyards, and
this one is so bright and cheerful that you might have missed it had I
not called your attention to it."
Following Mrs. Redmond and Amy, the others entered the enclosure. It
was, as Mrs. Redmond had said, "bright and cheerful," with neatly kept
walks, and a little fountain playing in the centre. Evidently it was no
longer a place of burial. Many of the stones were more than a hundred
years old, and marked the resting-place of the first Connecticut
settlers.
"How far away they were," said Amy, "from their real home. After all, in
spite of the rich dyke-lands given them here, I wonder if many of them
did not regret the homes they had left."
"That reminds me," said Priscilla, "of some lines I copied from a poem
the other day; Eunice had the book," and she turned over the leaves of
her note-book.
"Read them, please," said Mrs. Redmond. So Priscilla began rather
timidly, "The poem is 'The Resettlement of Acadia,' but I copied only
parts of it," and then she read with expression:
"'But the simple Norman peasant-folk shall till the land no more,
For the vessels from Connecticut have anchored by the shore,
And many a sturdy Puritan, his mind with Scripture stored,
Rejoices he has found at last "the garden of the Lord."
* * * * *
They come as Puritans, but who shall say their hearts are blind
To the subtle charms of nature, and the love of humankind?
* * * * *
And tears fall fast from many an eye, long time unused to weep,
For o'er the fields lay whitening the bones of cow and sheep.'"
"I know that you'll think me frightfully stupid," was Martine's comment,
as Priscilla finished reading. "That is delightful poetry, but it isn't
clear in my mind who the Connecticut Puritans were. Were they exiles,
too, like the Acadians and the Loyalists?"
"Only by their own will. But you are not stupid in failing to understand
about the resettling of Acadia. Many Nova Scotians know very little
about it. After the French had been deported in 1755, this fertile
Province would have been of little service to England without
inhabitants. The simplest way to repeople the land was to attract
colonists from the older colonies. So Governor Lawrence sent a
proclamation to Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, stating
the terms on which the Government would grant land to settlers. As a
result three separate groups of settlers were formed. The Massachusetts
families came to Annapolis; the Rhode Islanders to the country North of
Grand Pre, where there is now a Newport; and the Connecticut settlers,
as Priscilla has just read, to Grand Pre. These people were of the
highest character. Many of them had considerable property of their own,
and they came down here in the spirit that took so many sturdy New
Englanders West a generation or two ago."
"Thank you, Mrs. Redmond; I am glad to know that they didn't drive the
French out."
"Oh, no, many of them had undoubtedly seen the fertility of Nova Scotia
during the long French and Indian Wars, in which they had fought; the
richness of the country was pretty well understood. But they themselves
had nothing to do with deporting the Acadians. Dr. Gray explained all
this at Annapolis. But come, girls! You can copy these inscriptions some
other day, Priscilla. We must rest a little now, if we expect to enjoy
the afternoon."
When Mr. Knight called for them that afternoon the girls were surprised
at his appearance. Mrs. Redmond had forgotten to say that he was an
extremely young man, whose youth seemed all the greater because he tried
to assume the manners and aspect of a much older person. He had been
graduated from Acadia College a few years before, the youngest of his
class by more than a year. He was now a teacher in the neighboring
school that fitted boys for Acadia, and on this account perhaps felt the
need of maintaining a dignity of demeanor that should make them forget
his youth.
His friendship for Balfour and his sincere admiration of the whole
Airton family ought to have saved him from Martine's ridicule. But from
the moment that her eye took in the details of his costume,--his
high-standing collar, his round-headed walking-stick, his monocle, and
his hair neatly parted in the middle (though this was hardly a detail of
costume), she was convulsed with laughter. The carriage that Mr. Knight
had brought was two-seated, but each seat was wide enough for three, and
the pair of horses looked capable of travelling many miles without
fatigue.
Martine and Priscilla begged for the front seat with the driver, and Mr.
Knight, accordingly, sat on the back seat with Amy and Mrs. Redmond.
The party was soon outside the more closely built streets, on a broad
road that for the time offered little outlook. Mr. Knight, with the
evident intention of doing his full duty by Balfour's friend kept up a
monologue whose steady current afforded great amusement to Martine.
"Talk of babbling brooks," she murmured; "did you ever hear anything
like it?" and she gave Priscilla's arm a gentle pinch that made her
squirm.
"He's taking any amount of trouble to make history clear," rejoined
Priscilla, who, as usual, was not ready to accept Martine's point of
view.
"Yes, but he's beginning at the wrong end. We know all about Champlain,
and De Monts, and the Scotch Fort, and all that; what we want is how the
Acadians were treated at Grand Pre, and where--"
"Oh, he'll get there."
"Yes, if we give him time. But I am going to make him change the
subject." So, leaning back, Martine turned to Mr. Knight, "You are a
great friend of Mr. Airton's, I believe."
"Oh, yes, indeed; that is--but of course you know--well, Mr. Airton
is--ah, not exactly a contemporary of mine--that is, he is--I am older."
Mr. Knight, as he spoke, grew rather red in the face. There seemed to be
no excuse for his embarrassment, except the one that Mrs. Redmond gave
later, that he regarded Martine's question and her way of putting it
much in the light of a question from an _enfant terrible_.
Realizing, however, that he had not said just the right thing, the poor
young man next began to stammer in his effort to explain himself.
"Balfour certainly is a great friend of mine, and one of the finest boys
I know."
This ought to have been sufficient to please even the critical Martine,
and had Mr. Knight not used the word "boy" she might have been quite
content. As it was, this word happened to irritate her, and she
responded in a tone that disturbed Amy:
"Oh, did you say that Mr. Airton is younger than you? Isn't he
considerably taller?"
If Mr. Knight's face had been red before, it now became almost a deep,
deep crimson. Amy, rejoicing that her mother's seat was so far from
Martine's that she had not heard this remark, resolved at the earliest
opportunity to have a word alone with Martine.
The opportunity, however, did not come for some time, and meanwhile Mr.
Knight talked enthusiastically of the apple crops of Cornwallis, and of
the fortune that any man might gather who would deal intelligently with
the Gravenstein.
"The Cornwallis Valley," he said, "is one of the finest farming regions
in the world. You will see what I mean when you go to the Look-off, as
you will while you are here. But now--"
"Oh, is this an old French church?" asked Martine, excitedly, as they
approached an ancient wooden structure half hidden by Lombardy poplars.
If Mr. Knight heard her, he did not reply, but he jumped to the ground,
even before the driver had fairly pulled up his horses, and then, when
the carriage came to a full stop, offered to assist Mrs. Redmond to the
ground.
"This," he began, "is sometimes incorrectly called an Acadian church."
"Does he mean to snub me?" whispered Martine to Priscilla.
"Yet it is merely an old Scotch church," continued Mr. Knight, "built
about a hundred years ago. A service is held here two or three times a
year, but the building receives no great care, and, as you can see, even
some of its windows have been broken by mischievous boys."
"Such as Balfour Airton?" suggested Martine. But Mr. Knight took no
notice of her flippant criticism of his previous remark about Balfour.
"It is like a New England meeting-house," said Amy, with a tinge of
disappointment, as they looked inside the old building, noting its high
pews, and sounding-board, and unadorned walls. Then, as she saw Martine
standing apart from the others, she remembered the words that she had
meant to say to her. So, drawing near, she took the young girl's hand in
hers. Martine looked up at her with a smile.
"I know that you have a scolding tucked away somewhere, but I just won't
let you give it to me. It won't do me the least little bit of good, and
you wouldn't waste even a scolding, would you?"
"Oh, Martine, you are incorrigible; you surely realize that you need at
least a reproof. Mother would give it to you if she had heard."
"Mrs. Redmond is too sensible to overhear disagreeable things."
"Very well, Martine; but tell me honestly, wouldn't you prefer to sit
with mamma? She always has a soothing effect on you."
"That would bring me beside Mr. Knight. No, thanks. Surely, Amy, you
realize how ridiculous he is, talking in that patronizing way of
Balfour, who is a whole head taller than he."
"You forget, my dear child, that if he were not a great friend of
Balfour's we should not have had the pleasure of his escort this
afternoon. He is certainly most kind in taking all this trouble."
"I'll admit that he is very kind, though I dare say that we could have
found our way around without him. But he is ridiculous, isn't he, with
his walking-stick, and his English accent in an out-of-the-way place
like this?"
"As Wolfville has always been his home, Mr. Knight probably feels that
he has the right to a walking-stick or an English accent. If he had a
French accent you would perhaps make greater allowances for him. But for
the sake of peace, if you don't object, I'll have Priscilla change
places with you. If you overhear anything you dislike, you may vent your
anger on me. I do not wish Priscilla to be a victim."
"A victim! She doesn't realize that she is a victim now. Just look at
her. She is hanging on every word that Mr. Knight utters--and it's all
on account of his English accent."