TWO CALLERS
When Jack opened the door, Nicolas Bouchard stood frowning before him.
“Oh, come in, Nicolas,” he urged hospitably.
“Can’t; it’s too late; but saw you were still up, and wanted to tell you
that I just had a message from Yves and he wants to take possession of
this place at once. Think you could be out by this day week?”
“How do you know we aren’t going to pay off the mortgage?” flashed
Desiré, annoyed at the man for taking things so for granted.
Nicolas gave a grunt. “What with? Don’t get mad. We all know you haven’t
got any money. Glad to have you pay if you could, for you’ve always been
good neighbors; but a man’s got to take care of his pennies. They’re not
so plentiful now as they were when I took that mortgage.”
“Certainly, Nicolas,” said Jack, quietly laying a restraining hand on
Desiré’s arm. “You may have the house a week from today.”
The man lingered rather awkwardly.
“Felice said she’d be willing to keep the two little ones, so as you and
this girl could go to Boston, and find work—”
Desiré started to speak, but Jack’s hold on her arm tightened.
“They pay good wages there, I’m told,” the man went on. “Or, if you could
find some place for the rest, Yves said he’d be glad to have you stay on
here and help him farm.”
“We are indeed grateful for the kindness of our friends,” replied Jack;
“but we have decided that we must all stick together, some way.”
Nicolas turned without another word, and strode down the shell-bordered
path to the road, and Jack closed the door. In silent dismay the brother
and sister faced each other; then the girl’s courage reasserted itself.
“Never mind, dear,” she cried, putting both arms around him. “We’ll
surely find something. As _nôtre mère_ used to say so often, ‘let’s sleep
on it.’ Things always look lots brighter in the morning.”
“You’re such a good little pal, Dissy. We’ll say an extra prayer tonight
for help, and tomorrow we’ll try to decide upon something definite.”
Late the following afternoon Desiré stood on the doorstep, watching
Priscilla hopping down the dusty road to see a little friend. Early that
morning Jack had gone to Meteghan to settle up affairs with Nicolas and
Yves, and, to please Desiré, to price an outfit for a traveling store.
The sisters, greatly hindered by René, had spent the day going over
keepsakes and household belongings of all kinds, trying to decide what
they would keep and what they must dispose of.
“Are you going to sell _all_ our things, Dissy? Even Mother’s chair?”
“I’m afraid so, dear. You see we can’t carry furniture around with us
when we don’t know where or how we are going to live. You have her little
silver locket for a keepsake, and I have her prayerbook. We really don’t
need anything to remember her by.”
“No; and Jack has _nôtre père’s_ watch. But, oh, I—I wish we weren’t
going. I’m sort of afraid!”
“Afraid!” chided Desiré, although her own heart was filled with the
nameless dread which often accompanies a contemplated change. “With dear
old Jack to take care of us? I’m ashamed of you! We’re going to have just
lots of good times together. Try not to let Jack know that you mind.
Remember, Prissy, it’s far harder on him to be obliged to give up all his
own plans and hopes to take care of us, than it is for you and me to make
some little sacrifices and pretend we like them.”
“Ye-es,” agreed Priscilla slowly, trying to measure up to what was
expected of her.
“What’s the matter with Prissy?” demanded René, deserting his play and
coming to stand in front of them. “Has she got a pain?”
“A kind of one,” replied Desiré gently, “but it’s getting better now; so
go on with what you were doing, darling.”
The child returned to the corner of the room where he had been making a
wagon from spools and a pasteboard box, while Priscilla murmured, “I’ll
try not to fuss about things.”
“That’s a brave girl,” commended her sister. “Now, you’ve been in all
day; so suppose you run down to see Felice for a little while. Maybe
you’ll meet Jack on the way home, but don’t wait for him later than half
past five.”
The little girl was almost out of sight when Desiré’s attention was
diverted to the opposite direction by the sound of an automobile,
apparently coming from Digby. Motor cars were still sufficiently new in
Nova Scotia to excuse her waiting to see it pass. Only the well-to-do
people owned them, and she had never even had a ride in one. There were
rumors that possibly that very summer a bus line would be run to the
various interesting parts of the country for the convenience of tourists
from the States. Then she might be able to ride a little way, if it
didn’t cost too much, just to see how it felt.
A ramshackle Ford jerked to a sudden halt right in front of the house,
and a tall, thin man backed carefully out from the driver’s seat and
ambled up the path toward her.
“Mademoiselle Wistmore?” he inquired, bashfully removing his blue woolen
cap and thrusting it under his arm.
“_Oui_, Monsieur.”
“My name’s Pierre Boisdeau,” he drawled, taking the cap out from under
his arm and rolling it nervously between his two big hands.
“Yes?” replied Desiré encouragingly.
“I have a message for you,” pushing the long-suffering cap into his
pocket as he spoke.
The girl seated herself upon the broad stone step, and with a gesture
invited the stranger to do the same; but he merely placed one foot upon
the scraper beside the step, and began in halting embarrassed fashion to
deliver his message.
After he had gone, Desiré fairly raced through preparations for supper;
then went to look up the road again. If Jack would only come! René
trudged around from the back of the house where he had been playing, and
announced that he was hungry; so she took him in, gave him his supper,
and put him to bed. Before she had finished, Priscilla returned.
“Jack must have been delayed somewhere. We might as well eat, and I’ll
get his supper when he comes,” decided the older girl.
While they ate, Priscilla chattered on and on about her playmates, while
Desiré said “Yes” and “No” rather absent-mindedly. Where could Jack be?
“I’m going to bed,” yawned Priscilla, about seven o’clock. “We ran so
much, I’m tired.”
“All right, dear.”
“Where are _you_ going?” inquired the child, stopping on the stairs as
she caught sight of her sister throwing a shawl around her shoulders.
“Only out to the road to watch for Jack.”
“You won’t go any farther, and leave us?”
“Of course not. Have I ever left you alone at night?”
“No-o-o.”
“Run along to bed then,” reaching up to pat the brown hand which grasped
the stair railing.
What was keeping Jack?
For half an hour Desiré shifted her weight from one foot to the other,
watching the darkening road. As soon as she spied his tall form, she ran
to meet him and fell into step at his side.
“You must be nearly starved, dear,” she began.
“Not a bit. I happened to be at Henry Simard’s at about supper time, and
nothing would do but I must stay and eat with them. I hope you weren’t
worried,” looking down at Desiré anxiously.
“I tried not to be; for I thought perhaps you had gone farther than you
intended.”
“Nicolas was ready when I got to his house, and Yves met us in Meteghan;
so we fixed everything up successfully. The money which came to us I put
into the bank for emergencies; for—I’m awfully sorry to have to tell
you—there isn’t enough to buy and stock up a wagon, even if we decided to
adopt that way of living. So I looked around a bit for some kind of a
job.”
“Did you find anything?” asked Desiré, a bit breathlessly.
“Not yet; but I shall. We could—”
“Now that I’ve heard your news,” interrupted the girl eagerly, “just
listen to mine. A man named Pierre Boisdeau came in an auto from Digby
this afternoon with a message for us. Oh, Jack, the most wonderful thing!
When he took some salmon down to Yarmouth the other day, they told him at
the docks that old Simon had sent word to be sure to have anyone from up
this way go to see him. So he went, and found the poor old man all
crippled up with rheumatism. He will have to stay at his daughter’s house
all summer. So he won’t be able to peddle. And Jack! He wants _us_ to
take his wagon! Isn’t that just glorious? He said that if we won’t take
it and keep the route for him until he is well again, he’ll likely have
to sell out. He doesn’t want to do that. Isn’t it just providential? This
will give us a chance to try the experiment without much expense, and
will provide for us for several months.”
“We are indeed very fortunate,” replied Jack gravely. “We could hardly
take such an offer from anyone else, but Simon is such an old friend that
he would feel hurt if we refused. As you say, it will give us a chance to
find a place to settle in permanently. In the meantime, we shall be
holding the route for him.”
They entered the house and dropped down beside the table, still covered
with dishes, to finish their talk.
“Simon wants an answer as soon as possible; for he hates to think of all
his customers being deserted for so long. You’d better write to him
tonight.”
“I wonder,” said Jack slowly, after a few minutes’ consideration during
which his sister scanned his serious, thoughtful face rather anxiously.
“I wonder if it would be better for me to go down alone to get the wagon
and pick you up on the way back; or, for all of us to ride to Yarmouth on
the train, and start the route from there. Which should you like better?”
“To go to Yarmouth, of course; but won’t it cost a lot more?”
“Some, but—”
“I can prepare enough food for us to carry two meals, and there must be
some place where we could camp just outside of the city.”
“Anxious to get started?”
“Yes. I hate goodbyes. I’d like to steal out right away, without anybody
knowing it.”
“I’m afraid you can’t leave our good neighbors like that. They have known
us all our lives; and think how hurt they would feel.”
“I suppose so; but they all want us to do something different, and
criticize _nôtre père_ for trying to educate us.”
“They don’t understand, but they mean well and have been very kind to
us.”
“I know, and I do appreciate it; but—couldn’t we start soon?”
“Day after tomorrow, I should think. I’m afraid one trunk and the box in
the store room will be all we can take on our travels. Shall you be able
to manage that way?”
“I’ll try to; but what shall I do with the furniture?”
“Give it away, or leave it for Yves. We’ll just have to stifle all
sentimental affection for our household gods.”
“We’ll have a house of our own again some day, and get new household
gods.”
* * * * * * * *
Intense excitement prevailed in the Clare District on Wednesday
afternoon. Little groups of women and children were hurrying along the
dusty road. On every doorstep a man or woman too old, or a child too
young, to join the procession was sitting waiting to wave farewell to the
travelers when they passed. These good people were much disturbed at the
departure of the little Wistmore family. It was almost unheard of for any
of the Acadian families voluntarily to leave that peaceful section and
wander among strangers in unfamiliar parts of the country. Occasionally,
within their knowledge, an individual or two had decided to seek his
fortune elsewhere; but never before a whole family, and the Wistmores at
that! The neighbors had done their best, one and all, to dissuade the
children from following such a course; but since their words of advice
and warning had proved of no avail, they were now on their way, bearing
little gifts of good will, to bid the adventurers Godspeed.
When Jack drove up with André Comeau who was going to take them to the
station, three miles away, the yard was filled with little groups of
neighbors; and inside the house still others were saying their reluctant
farewells. Shaking the hands held out to him on every side, Jack gently
pushed through the crowd; and, with André’s help, loaded their one trunk
and box onto the wagon. Then he detached Desiré and the children from the
weeping women, and helped them up to the seats which had been made of
rough planks laid across the wagon box. The crowd drew back, and amid a
chorus of “_Bon jour!_” “_Au revoir!_” the travelers started on their
journey.
Desiré and Priscilla, with tears rolling down their faces, waved as long
as they could see their old friends, and answered salutations from many a
doorstep; but Jack, with set face, did not look back at all. Even René
was unusually quiet, hardly knowing what to make of it all. The train
pulled into the tiny station just as they reached the platform, and there
was no time to be lost. Before the children, to whom a railroad was a
novelty, had time hardly to glance at the long train, its freight cars
placed ahead of the coaches, as is common in Nova Scotia, they were
hustled on board, the bell rang, and they were off.