A DISCOVERY
"I almost wish," said Amy to her mother, as their train was speeding
away from Wolfville, "that we were going direct to Halifax."
"That _is_ a concession," responded Mrs. Redmond, with a smile, "for if
you had been less anxious to see Windsor we should have passed on
without stopping there. Perhaps even yet it is not too late to change
our plans."
"Oh, no; I am just as anxious as ever to visit King's College, and
Martine and Priscilla, if not enthusiastic, still feel pleased at the
prospect of seeing one more town before we reach Halifax. I've had to
use some persuasion to get them to take this point of view, and it would
be very foolish indeed for me to be the one to change plans now."
A moment later Martine and Priscilla, who had been looking from the
window on the opposite side of the car, returned to their seats.
"Would you care to give up Windsor now?" asked Mrs. Redmond.
"No, indeed; since I realized that Windsor is the old Piziquid of the
Acadians I have been crazy to see it, for I read a story the other day
whose scene was laid there; and besides, I've heard that Windsor has one
of the queerest harbors in the world, with water in it hardly two or
three hours a day, and only red mud the rest of the time."
"That's nothing very new," interrupted Priscilla; "we've seen enough of
that kind of thing already in Nova Scotia."
"Oh, but the difference is that the harbor of Windsor is so large that
they say it is very amusing to see so many great vessels stranded in it
I'm quite reconciled now to spending a day or two there; it's only
Priscilla who objects, Mrs. Redmond."
"I don't really object" responded Priscilla, "but I'm afraid we won't
have all the time we need at Halifax."
"After all, we shall not be limited in our stay there. Unless those
letters that I expect insist on my return at once I shall be quite
willing to stay away until after the first of September."
"Who is it then, besides Priscilla, who wishes to cut Windsor?"
"No one but me, Martine," returned Amy; "and this is only because I have
a little feeling that I can't explain that we might better go through
directly to Halifax. It's the kind of feeling that leads people
sometimes to give up a particular train from fear that some accident
will befall it."
"Ugh!" and Martine held up her hands in protest. "I never knew before,
Miss Amy Redmond, that you could be superstitious, for that's what
'having feelings' amounts to."
"Well, at least I'm strong-minded enough to disregard these
premonitions. In my heart of hearts I believe that we shall not only
escape from Windsor alive, but enjoy our stay there thoroughly."
Not so very long after leaving Wolfville the travellers were within
sight of Windsor. They had passed through beautiful farming regions with
occasional glimpses of river and marsh; and there across a stretch of
yellowish water they caught sight of the town which the Indians had so
correctly named Piziquid, "the meeting of the waters." This first
glimpse showed a town built up on the sides of leafy hills and
stretching down to the water, bordered with many wharves, at which lay
three-masted schooners and craft of every size.
Their rooms had been engaged at one of the smaller hotels. It was
delightfully situated on a side street, and within seemed pleasant and
homelike. Already their bags had been taken to the rooms assigned them,
and Martine and Priscilla lingered a moment to speak to the landlady's
little daughter, a child of five or six, who was playing in the hall.
"How red her cheeks are! I must kiss her;" and Martine bent down to suit
the action to the word. But the little girl was coquettish, and,
slipping away, stood at some distance, staring at the strange young
ladies. Priscilla looked sharply at the child.
"I wouldn't kiss her," she remonstrated. "Her cheeks are flushed; they
are almost feverish. I believe she's not well."
"Nonsense," rejoined Martine, with a laugh. "Every one down here has red
cheeks;" and she took a few steps forward in pursuit of the child.
Priscilla laid her hand on her arm "No, no, she looks just as my little
sister did after she had scarlet fever; promise me you won't kiss her."
"I don't see why you should care," said Martine; "but you seem so in
earnest that for once I'll do what you wish."
At this moment Mrs. Redmond approached the girls, in company with the
landlady, who had been showing her her room. She, too, looked keenly at
the little child.
"Is this your little girl?" she asked her companion.
"Yes, my only child."
"Is she,--is she quite well?"
The woman hesitated for a moment.
"She has been sick, but she's almost well," she replied.
"What was the matter with her?" asked Mrs. Redmond, pleasantly.
"She has had scarlet fever, but--"
"Girls," said Mrs. Redmond, "have your bags brought from your rooms."
Then she turned to the landlady.
"I can understand now why you can offer us a choice of so many rooms;
the fever, I suppose, drove your guests away. I'm sorry, but we, too,
must look farther."
In a few moments the four had called a carriage and were on their way to
seek a new abode. Martine saw the ridiculous side of the whole affair
and made the others laugh at her account of the way Priscilla had saved
her from the fatal kiss.
"It is no laughing matter," protested Mrs. Redmond; "the child was
evidently in that condition when the disease is particularly contagious,
even though she herself is not especially ill. I shall have to watch you
all very carefully, and shall be thankful enough if you do not suffer
from this exposure."
"There, Amy," cried Priscilla, "the worst is over; your premonitions are
justified, and another time we won't laugh at your superstition. Though
you hadn't scarlet fever in mind, this was the danger which we were to
pass through."
"I hope that the worst really is over, but it is rather curious that
this particular incident should have happened here after what I said."
Under the guidance of their driver the party soon found a boarding-place
in a large wooden house, attractively situated on a hill.
On the morning after their arrival Mrs. Redmond advised the girls to
make the most of their time.
"I'm told that we can visit the college and return in time to take the
afternoon train for Halifax, but perhaps it will be as well to do things
a little more at our leisure and go on to-morrow."
"Oh, far better," said Martine; "it would be so tiresome to go on
to-day; besides--" and here she stopped as if she had almost disclosed
something that she should not speak about.
Soon after breakfast Martine and Amy strolled off to the grass-grown
ramparts of Fort Edward, the defence that had been built by the English
against the French when Acadia came into their possession. An old
blockhouse was the most interesting thing to be seen from the Fort;
interesting at least from the historical point of view.
"What makes Windsor seem so very new?" asked Martine. "Every one speaks
of it as such an old town, and it seems to be full of new brick
buildings that look as if they'd been finished hardly a week."
"It's the fire," replied Amy. "The greater part of Windsor was destroyed
by fire a year or two ago. It used to be much prettier, they say, with
its old wooden buildings and tree-lined streets. The trees and the
old-fashioned dwellings have all been swept away,--at least in this part
of the city. When we go to King's College this afternoon we shall see
what is left of the older section."
"Martine," said Mrs. Redmond, when the two returned, "I'm sorry to have
to reprove you."
"If any one is to reprove me you are the one, Mrs. Redmond, whom I
should prefer to administer the reproof; but what is the trouble now? Am
I in danger of catching anything new?"
"No, my child, but see!"
Mrs. Redmond held up before Martine a small chamois bag.
"Oh, dear, did I really leave it lying about?"
"Yes, Martine, and had any one else found it you might have been put to
considerable trouble to recover your rings."
Taking the little bag from Mrs. Redmond's hands, Martine emptied its
contents on a table. There they were,--not only the four beautiful
rings, but the diamond star that her father had given her the preceding
Christmas. Ever since Priscilla had expressed her contempt for those who
wore expensive jewelry while travelling, Martine had carried her rings
in the little bag in which she kept the star and one or two other
valuable pins.
"It seems to me," said Mrs. Redmond, "that it would have been wiser to
leave these valuable things in Boston."
"But I always have them with me, and nothing has ever happened."
Mrs. Redmond hesitated as to what she should say. Although she was
Martine's temporary guardian, she believed that it was not her place to
instruct the young girl on points that would naturally come within the
observation of her parents. If they had established no rules regarding
the times when she should or should not wear jewelry, it was hardly the
duty of another to interfere. Yet she saw that a word or two now might
prevent further complications while she and Martine were travelling
together.
"It is true," she said, "that people must judge for themselves when they
shall and when they shall not wear jewels. But your rings, I can see,
are all valuable, especially the emerald, and it is so easy to mislay
such things when dressing, or when leaving a boarding-house, that if I
were you I would put them safely away."
Though she did not express it, her real thought was that in travelling
there is seldom an occasion when a young girl needs to wear jewelry.
"Thank you, Mrs. Redmond," said Martine, pleasantly. "I am truly sorry
that I brought these things with me, although at home I always wear my
rings without thinking about them. The diamond star I thought might be
worn if we were invited to a party or a reception while away, but I see
now that it would not be the thing for me to wear it at all this summer.
In fact, when papa gave it to me he said that he did not expect me to
wear it often until I was eighteen, but I thought I would like to have
it with me, and it seemed safe enough in this bag."
"Yes, when you wear the bag around your neck; but if you leave it
carelessly lying about, you'll have only yourself to blame if you lose
it."
"Thank you, Mrs. Redmond," responded Martine; "after this I will see
that it is put away."
Martine had received Mrs. Redmond's words so well that the latter was
more than ever impressed with the young girl's amiability, and she
wondered that between her and Priscilla there could still exist any
antagonism.
There was no evidence, however, of anything but good feeling when the
four set out for their drive to King's College. Amy had told them that
they were to drive also near the grounds of the old home of that Judge
Haliburton whose other home they had seen at Annapolis, explaining:
"Some persons call him 'the father of Canadian literature,' because his
'Sam Slick' and his history were almost the first books written in
Canada to attract the attention of people outside."
King's College, in a certain way, offered rather less than the girls had
expected, though its chief college building was an imposing structure,
with great columns in front. The grounds were extensive, and the gently
rolling lawns suggested an English landscape.
"King's is an old college for this part of the world," said Mrs.
Redmond, "and though I cannot remember all I have heard about it,
various old forms and ceremonies are kept up here, I believe, and
commencement is always very interesting."
"It isn't as old as Harvard, is it?" asked Martine.
"What a question!" interposed Priscilla. "No college is as old as
Harvard--at least, in this country. Just see how small this is, too!"
"Yet you ought to be especially interested in King's College,
Priscilla," said Mrs. Redmond, gently, "for it was founded by exiled
Loyalists almost immediately after the Revolution. Indeed, plans for the
college were made in New York even before the close of the war, when it
was seen that large numbers of educated men and women would probably
have to bring up their children in a new country, where it would take
time to establish even ordinary day schools."
"After the Revolution! That seems young compared with Harvard. But come,
let us see what there is in this ancient-looking library. The driver
says it's the only building open to visitors now," said Amy, who had
been leading the way.
There were some entertaining books and portraits in the old library, and
after lingering over them a little while, the girls prepared to return
to the town. They took a last look at the old college before the
carriage drove away.
"Its surroundings are beautiful," exclaimed Amy, "but it doesn't compare
with Wellesley;" and before her eyes rose a picture of the College
Beautiful, with its lake, its hills and groves, and its many fine
buildings.
"I'm very glad, however," she added, "that we came here, for I have got
a certain impression from King's College that is quite worth having."
"So say we all of us," added Martine. And thus in an amiable frame of
mind the party returned to their boarding-house, pleased with their
sightseeing. Although none of the girls would admit that they were
tired, Mrs. Redmond suggested that all go to bed early.
"I'll agree," responded Martine, "if you'll come up first to my room."
Martine's room was large and pleasant, and even for so short a stay she
had thought it worth while to give it a few homelike touches.
Photographs of her parents and of one or two of her friends in
ornamental frames were on the mantelpiece, and over the mantelpiece
itself she had draped a soft foreign scarf. Her silver toilet articles
occupied the top of the bureau; for in spite of Priscilla's disapproval,
or perhaps because of it, she now carried these things in her suit case.
Slight though these little touches were, Martine had contrived to
relieve the room of its purely boarding-house aspect.
The house itself was plain, and both inside and out had a certain aspect
of flimsiness. This had been accounted for by some one who had told Mrs.
Redmond that it had been put up very hastily, immediately after the
recent fire. It had been built for a boarding-house and pretended to be
nothing else. It was airy and clean, but neither its landlady nor the
other boarders attracted the travellers sufficiently to incline them to
stay downstairs in the general sitting-room; so the three girls and Mrs.
Redmond sat and chatted in Martine's room, enjoying the box of
chocolates that she had opened for their especial pleasure.
"They ought to be good," she said, when Mrs. Redmond praised them. "They
came from Halifax;" and she glanced mischievously at Priscilla.
"From Halifax?" repeated Amy. "I suppose that's where most shopkeepers
in Windsor get their goods."
"Halifax by way of Windsor."
"No, no," retorted Martine, "not by way of Windsor at all; they came to
me by mail. You know I went down to the post-office the last moment
before we left Wolfville."
The others made no comment, but Priscilla and Amy exchanged glances, and
Priscilla's seemed to say:
"I told you so."
Before, however, anything could be said, Martine rushed to her bureau.
"I received a letter, too, at the same time," she cried, "and except for
these chocolates I never should have thought of it again."
Lifting the cover of the candy box, she took from it a large square
envelope, which for safe keeping, perhaps, she had placed under the lace
paper that lined it.
"What next?" thought Amy. "If the letter is from either Fritz or Taps, I
wonder if she'll venture to read it."
Then Martine, with the utmost unconcern, opened the envelope, saying as
she did so:
"It's from Mrs. Blair; you know she's a cousin of mamma's, and she often
gives me good advice; I suppose this letter is full of it. That's one
reason I left it to read on the train. I knew it would keep till then;
and, after all, I entirely forgot it."
"Mrs. Blair would feel complimented," interposed Amy.
"Oh, she knows me; I never hide my feelings."
"Do you ever try?"
"Yes, my dear Mrs. Redmond; I've never dared let you know just how much
I care for you."
Thus effectually silenced, Mrs. Redmond waited for Martine to read her
letter.
"You ought to like Mrs. Blair," said Amy, for Martine still held the
opened envelope in her hand without attempting to read its contents.
"Why?"
"Because she has style, Martine, and you generally put that before
everything else; but read your letter, I would like to hear where they
are, for I am always interested in Edith's doings."
"Yes, yes," yet Martine did not take the letter from the envelope; "but
people need something besides style. I get so out of patience with Mrs.
Blair when she and mamma are together. She always has the air of
disapproving of mamma for having married a western man. She makes me
think of the New Yorker who said to a Chicago woman, 'How can you bear
to live so far away?' 'Away? From what?' asked the other. And the New
Yorker couldn't say a word."
"But that isn't like Mrs. Blair, for she always has a word ready for
everything. Do read your letter, Martine," continued Amy.
So Martine glanced hastily over the pages, making comments as she read.
"Oh, it's a kind of duty letter. She wants me to think it a great
privilege that you have allowed me to travel with you this summer. She
seems to have an especially high regard for you, Priscilla. I won't
flatter you by reading what she says. Oh, yes, and she wants to give me
some bad news. She has seen mamma at Carlsbad and thinks her looking
very miserable. Well, that's about all, except that she wishes Edith
cared more for Europe."
"Yes," interposed Amy, "Edith was very anxious to go West this summer
with Philip and Pamela; they're having a fine trip over the Canadian
Rockies."
Martine evidently was not listening to Amy. Her face wore an expression
of great bewilderment, and then, with an exclamation of surprise she
thrust the letter into Amy's hand:
"Read it," she cried; "isn't it extraordinary?" and she pointed to the
signature. "'Audrey Balfour Blair!' Did you know that was her name?"
"Why, I'm not sure," responded Amy. "I never had a letter from Mrs.
Blair."
"Nor I," responded Martine, "though Edith often writes to me."
"That's why Balfour and Audrey seem so familiar to me," added Priscilla,
whose family were on rather intimate terms with Mrs. Blair.
"I never heard even mamma speak of Mrs. Blair by her first name,"
continued Martine. "Of course I must have known that it was Audrey, but
I had never noticed the Balfour before."
"Well, if Balfour is a family name of Mrs. Blair's it must be of your
mother's also; or at least it probably is."
"In that case," said Martine, "then Balfour and I may be cousins."
"I wish that Eunice and I were cousins." Priscilla's wistful tone was in
contrast to the brighter one in which Martine had spoken.
"What's in a name?" continued the latter. "I dare say it's only the
merest happening that these names are alike."
"I was going to suggest," commented Mrs. Redmond, "that it might be
wiser not to build your hopes too high, although I'll admit that there
may be some connection between the two families."
"What pleases me the most," said Martine, "is to think of Mrs. Blair's
disgust when she hears that her family names belong also to people in
Nova Scotia."
"And one of them a grocer's clerk," added Amy, whereupon Martine colored
deeply.
"Balfour's just as good as Philip Blair, and he won't have to leave
college without taking his degree." Then, as if ashamed of her
petulance, she added: "To find out how things really are I suppose that
after this I'll have to take an interest in genealogy. Mrs. Blair
belongs to the Colonial Dames and offered to have mamma's name put
through, and I think she would have consented to this if I hadn't
laughed so at the idea. I dare say the Dames are different from the
Daughters. I hope so at any rate, for the Daughters are always waving
their ancestors in one another's faces, especially at their meetings,
which I am told are like real battles."
"Oh, no," protested Mrs. Redmond, "not always. I've been at some that
were very pleasant."
"Well, before long," concluded Martine, "you'll find me climbing family
trees in a way that will make you dizzy; in fact, I feel a little giddy,
as the English say, at the very prospect of having--Eunice for a cousin.
Indeed, I believe I'll not sleep a wink to-night in my effort to settle
the question."