The chest of drawers, the bed, the bedding, the pieces of linen, and the
pile of yarn had been ready for many months. Annette had made inventory
of them every day since the dot was complete--at first with a great deal
of pride, after a time more shyly and wistfully: Benoit did not come. He
had said he would be down with the first drive of logs in the summer, and
at the little church of St. Saviour's they would settle everything and
get the Cure's blessing. Almost anybody would have believed in Benoit.
He had the brightest scarf, the merriest laugh, the quickest eyes, and
the blackest head in Pontiac; and no one among the river drivers could
sing like him. That was, he said gaily, because his earrings were gold,
and not brass like those of his comrades. Thus Benoit was a little vain,
and something more; but old ladies such as the Little Chemist's wife said
he was galant. Probably only Medallion the auctioneer and the Cure did
not lose themselves in the general admiration; they thought he was to
Annette like a farthing dip to a holy candle.
Annette was the youngest of twelve, and one of a family of thirty-for
some of her married brothers and sisters and their children lived in her
father's long white house' by the river. When Benoit failed to come in
the spring, they showed their pity for her by abusing him; and when she
pleaded for him they said things which had an edge. They ended by
offering to marry her to Farette, the old miller, to whom they owed money
for flour. They brought Farette to the house at last, and she was
patient while he ogled her, and smoked his strong tabac, and tried to
sing. She was kind to him, and said nothing until, one day, urged by her
brother Solime, he mumbled the childish chanson Benoit sang the day he
left, as he passed their house going up the river:
"High in a nest of the tam'rac tree,
Swing under, so free, and swing over;
Swing under the sun and swing over the world,
My snow-bird, my gay little lover
My gay little lover, don, don! . . . don, don!
"When the winter is done I will come back home,
To the nest swinging under and over,
Swinging under and over and waiting for me,
Your rover, my snow-bird, your rover--
Your lover and rover, don, don! . . . don, don!"
It was all very well in the mouth of the sprightly, sentimental Benoit;
it was hateful foolishness in Farette. Annette now came to her feet
suddenly, her pale face showing defiance, and her big brown eyes flicking
anger. She walked up to the miller and said: "You are old and ugly and a
fool. But I do not hate you; I hate Solime, my brother, for bringing you
here. There is the bill for the flour? Well, I will pay it myself--and
you can go as soon as you like."
Then she put on her coat and capote and mittens, and went to the door.
"Where are you going, Ma'm'selle?" cried Solime, in high rage.
"I am going to M'sieu' Medallion," she said.
Hard profane words followed her, but she ran, and never stopped till she
came to Medallion's house. He was not there. She found him at the
Little Chemist's. That night a pony and cart took away from the house
of Annette's father the chest of drawers, the bed, the bedding, the
pieces of linen, and the pile of yarn which had been made ready so long
against Benoit's coming. Medallion had said he could sell them at once,
and he gave her the money that night; but this was after he had had a
talk with the Cure, to whom Annette had told all. Medallion said he had
been able to sell the things at once; but he did not tell her that they
were stored in a loft of the Little Chemist's house, and that the Little
Chemist's wife had wept over them and carried the case to the shrine of
the Blessed Virgin.
It did not matter that the father and brothers stormed. Annette was
firm; the dot was hers, and she would do as she wished. She carried the
money to the miller. He took it grimly and gave her a receipt, grossly
mis-spelled, and, as she was about to go, brought his fist heavily down
on his leg and said: "Mon Dieu, it is brave--it is grand--it is an
angel." Then he chuckled: "So, so! It was true. I am old, ugly, and a
fool. Eh, well, I have my money!" Then he took to counting it over in
his hand, forgetting her, and she left him growling gleefully over it.
She had not a happy life, but her people left her alone, for the Cure had
said stern things to them. All during the winter she went out fishing
every day at a great hole in the ice--bitter cold work, and fit only for
a man; but she caught many fish, and little by little laid aside pennies
to buy things to replace what she had sold. It had been a hard trial to
her to sell them. But for the kind-hearted Cure she would have repined.
The worst thing happened, however, when the ring Benoit had given her
dropped from her thin finger into the water where she was fishing. Then
a shadow descended on her, and she grew almost unearthly in the anxious
patience of her face. The Little Chemist's wife declared that the look
was death. Perhaps it would have been if Medallion had not sent a lad
down to the bottom of the river and got the ring. He gave it to the
Cure, who put it on her finger one day after confession. Then she
brightened, and waited on and on patiently.
She waited for seven years. Then the deceitful Benoit came pensively
back to her, a cripple from a timber accident. She believed what he told
her; and that was where her comedy ended and her tragedy began.