cars again--this time for Redon. Uncle spoke again, and asked me if I
had the Gaelic grammar handy. I said no, and he said "Hum." Then we
reached Redon and changed cars again for Auray. Going to Auray, Uncle
asked me what became of Mrs. Whalen, and when I told him that she went
to Mont-Saint-Michel, he said her husband was a lucky man to be dead.
Then we came to Auray and changed cars for Plouharnel, and I began to
wonder why we didn't run off the end of Brittany into the sea. We
reached Plouharnel about four in the afternoon, and took a tram for
Carnac at once, and when we reached Carnac Uncle said to pardon the
personality of the statement, but that he never again would try to keep
up with the eternal activity of a young person. I thought that that was
pretty hard when I didn't even know where we were going, but I didn't
say anything, and when he went to wash, I gave the waiter an extra tip
to feed us quickly. After Uncle ate, we went out and walked around
Carnac a very little and saw all the people in their black velvet
hat-ribbons and short jackets; but when I said they looked picturesque,
Uncle said that they looked like darned fools, so we came home, and now
we are going to bed. I have written Lee, but I don't know when he will
get it, because of course it will have to go backward through all these
changes.
[Illustration: "When he went to wash I gave the waiter an extra tip to
feed us quickly"]
(NEXT DAY)
_Carnac._
Dearest Mama: Uncle woke up ever so much better this morning, and told
me that he pitied any poor wretch who has ever been sicker than he was
on "that d----d yacht." He said, too, that any one who could suppose for
a minute that he should have any serious intentions toward such a woman
as Miss Clara Emily would be even more of an utter idiot than Mrs.
Whalen appeared to be. He said, too, that the ticket-agent who told him
that Carnac was an easy place to go to, ought to be strangled by the
first traveler who got back alive from the effects of believing him to
be telling the truth. He said, too, that if he survived Europe and
reached home again, he'd get in a bathtub and know when he was well off
for one while. He said, too, that when he had once looked around the
Stone Age he was going to head for Paris with a speed which he rather
guessed would cause the natives to open their eyes.
[Illustration: "Broke the bell-rope ordering breakfast"]
Then he went to his room and broke the bell-rope ordering breakfast.
After breakfast we went to walk and saw more stone walls than I ever saw
before. There isn't a wooden house or fence in the whole of Brittany, I
believe. We walked to a tiny village called St. Columban's, and climbed
the tower of the little church. There was a fine view, but Uncle said he
could smell the oysters for miles around, so we came down right off and
walked back. There was a girl who said she would drive us all over in
the afternoon, and let us take the night train from Auray; so we
returned to the hotel and had an early lunch, and then she came to the
door with a shaky old thing like a carry-all and a fat little horse, and
we started.
Mama, you never saw anything like Uncle. Everything was wrong at
first--every living thing, and the one saving grace of the situation was
that the girl who drove couldn't speak English. But after a while we
came to the first menhirs, and Uncle just about went into a fit. They
are the most curious things I ever saw, for they stand in parallel rows
miles long and every one is resting on its little end and has been
resting on its little end for thousands of years. At the first glance
Uncle said they were arranged so just for tourists; but he got out and
walked around them and tried to shake one or two, and then he said he
wouldn't have missed seeing them for the world and that he should never
regret coming to Europe as long as he might live hereafter. He was
perfectly lovely for a while after that, and we looked at dolmens and
cromlechs the whole afternoon, and sometimes we thought they were
hay-mows when we saw them far ahead and sometimes we thought they were
houses. We only had one unfortunate time, and that was when we had to
ferry over the Crach. The ferry was on the other side, and that upset
Uncle right away and he asked me if my experience had ever led me to a
ferry that was _not_ on the other side. They took nearly half an hour to
bring it across, and Uncle said that it would be a great day for Europe
if she ever learned what t-i-m-e spelt, and he looked at me as if I were
Europe while he said it. They are building a bridge over the Crach, and
as soon as we embarked on the rickety old ferry, it blew in between two
of the piers and wedged tight, with us on it. Uncle asked me if I was
going to have the face to tell him that we were not stuck and were not
going to be stuck there indefinitely, and I really didn't know _what_ to
answer. The men in the boat hollered and hauled and swore in Gaelic, and
finally we were free for fifty feet, and then the tide blew us in
between two other piers. Uncle said he could but feel that being stuck
twice on the same ferry was a poor reward for a kind-hearted man who was
trying to the best of his ability to give some species of instructive
amusement to an innocent girl, and then he looked severely at the
setting sun while we came loose again and progressed fifty feet more. A
great, thick wave came then and broke over the horse and smashed us in
so hard and fast that I was honestly scared. Uncle was too mad for
words. He said that he would just make one remark, and that was that if
he ever gave me a chance to beguile him away from civilization again he
would cheerfully and contentedly and silently end his days on any ferry
which I would choose to designate to him. It was getting cold, and I was
so tired from yesterday that I just shut my eyes and did not speak at
all, and when we came loose, Uncle spoke to me quite gently and was very
nice all the rest of the way.
We were too late for the train and have come back to Carnac. I feel
about done up.
(NEXT DAY)
_Carnac._
Dearest Mama: Lee and Edna and Mrs. Clary are all here. Just listen. Lee
looks like a ghost, and it seems that no one noticed Uncle go aboard
that Jersey boat because Uncle went aboard by a gang-plank that's
forbidden, and he thought that he was drowned, and they dragged the dock
and sent down divers, and finally came over to St. Malo to break the
news to me, having telegraphed Mrs. Clary and Edna to come at once. He
reached St. Malo only to find us gone, and they have been tracing us
with the automobile ever since. Lee is so glad Uncle is alive that he
keeps grabbing his hand and shaking it and shaking it, and Uncle says I
must not mention it to Lee, for it might go to his head, but that he is
one of the few young men who have a heart in the right place, and that
he has always had a special fondness for him ever since he was a baby.
Lee thinks that under the circumstances we had better tell Uncle
to-night, and we are going to. I feel rather nervous, but Lee says he
can never stand anything like these three days again.
[Illustration: "He told Mrs. Clary that he had foreseen this finale to
our trip all along," etc.]
_Midnight of the same day._
My Own Dearest Mama: Uncle says yes! He says he has been carefully
scheming and planning to bring Lee and me together for years. He says
there are traits in Lee which are so like his own that he cannot but
admit that Lee is one of the very few men in this world calculated to
make a woman happy. He told Mrs. Clary that he had foreseen this finale
to our trip all along, and I do believe that he really believes himself.
The Brewers arrived about nine o'clock to-night, and they are so
delighted. Mr. Brewer is so kind; he says Uncle must go to Locmariaquer
and around that way with them. I reckon he thinks I need a rest. We told
them about Clara and the locket, and I thought that they would die. Mr.
Brewer says that never a day passes without their remembering something
fresh which she must have overheard.
I am so happy over Uncle that I hardly know what to do. He says it has
been the pleasantest trip of his life, this little tour with me, and
that Lee must never cease to treat me with the tender care which he has
given me all along. He says Lee must remember what a sensitive
organization a woman has and never indulge in temper or impatience or
strong language or sarcasm. Lee is very nice and says "Yes, sir," and
nods every time. I do think Lee gets nicer and nicer all the time.
We start toward Paris to-morrow.
Your awfully happy,
YVONNE.
XV
UNCLE JOHN WELL CONTENT
"Well, Mrs. Brewer, this is certainly the only way to travel, after all.
Comfortable, clean,--for if there is a smell, some other fellow gets
it,--and no jolting. And now that I have that dear child established and
off my mind, I feel that I can conscientiously give myself a few days of
free and easy pleasure. I've done nothing up to now but consider Yvonne
and her needs, mental and material, and although I love the child like
my own, still I cannot but admit that a young girl is a great care. And
of course you never can be positive that the right man will turn up.
However, all's well that ends well, and I'm happy to say that I'm ending
this little trip extremely well content. Some men might regret not
having seen more, but never me. You see, Brewer, I am one of the
easy-going, placid, serene type, and whatever turns up suits me
perfectly. I guess if you ask my family far and wide you won't find one
member to deny that statement, or if you do, you will just have the
kindness to let me know who it is and I'll take steps to prevent their
ever expressing such an opinion a second time.
"Fine view here. Good road. Believe I'll have a machine of my own when
I get back to America. What's that island off at sea? Belle-Isle, eh?
Dumas' Belle-Isle? Very interesting. We might make a little excursion
out there, calling ourselves the Three Mousquetaires, eh? I'll be
d'Artagnan; I always fancy d'Artagnan. I tell you, Brewer, something
martial gets up and stirs around in my bosom as a result of this trip--a
sort of dare-devil, Robert-the-Devil, piratical, Crusader sort of a
thrill. I shall never be sorry that I came. The trip has not been one of
unmitigated joy. We have borne our crosses,--many crosses,--and yet I
will remark--and I'll swear it, too, if you like,--that I'm glad I came.
"I've seen thoroughly every place I've been in. I've made my niece
enjoy life, and I've made every one else with whom I came in contact
enjoy life. I've won for her just the one man calculated to make her
happy, and now I am headed for the one land calculated to make me happy.
"I'm glad that I came, I'm glad that I came."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Seeing France with Uncle John, by Anne Warner