IN CAMP
“Well, our first sale wasn’t so bad,” observed Desiré, as they drove
away. “But wasn’t she funny?”
“I thought you were going to disgrace us,” said Jack, smiling. “If you
can’t behave any better than that, I’ll have to leave you beside the road
somewhere and pick you up later.”
“Oh—o—o!” shrieked René.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jack, turning to look at the small boy
behind him.
“Don’t want Dissy left anywhere! Want her with us!”
“Jack’s only fooling, darling; don’t cry,” consoled Desiré, reaching back
over the seat to pet the little boy.
Peace and quiet having been restored, they jogged along the sunshiny
road, and soon were abreast of St. Mary’s Bay, where flecks of white were
dancing over the blue surface.
“White caps,” observed Desiré. “Fundy must be rough today.”
“Those are gulls,” corrected Jack, “at least so the Indians used to
believe. The Spirit of the Sea was so fond of the birds that he caught a
lot one day and, with a long string, tied their legs together. He keeps
them down in his house under the water, and at times he lets the gulls
come up to swim on the top of the water for air and exercise.”
“Why don’t they fly away then? _I_ would!” asserted René, big-eyed with
interest.
“Because the Spirit holds fast to the string, and when he thinks they’ve
been out long enough, he pulls them all down under the water again.”
Between Saulnierville and Little Brook they made several stops and
substantial sales. The picnic dinner which good Mrs. Riboux had insisted
upon packing for them, they ate beside a shady stream in which many
little fish darted about among the weeds. René insisted upon trying to
catch some with his hands, but succeeded only in getting his clothing so
splashed that Desiré had to stand him out in the sun to dry before they
could continue on their way.
“There’s Church Point,” cried Desiré, later in the afternoon, pointing to
the skyline ahead, where a tall spire topped with a cross rose proudly
against the blue.
“How happy the sailors must be when they first catch sight of that
point,” mused Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla.
“Because the spire can be seen for many miles out at sea, and the sailors
use it as a guide.”
The shadows were getting long, and the air was much cooler by the time
they drove into the little town. On St. Mary’s Bay several fishing boats
had already been anchored near the sands, and farther out on the gilded
water others were heading for the shore. Over the slight rise near the
church they drove, and in and out among the ox teams and lines of
slow-moving cows.
“Everybody’s goin’ home but us,” remarked René rather plaintively, making
the tears spring to Desiré’s eyes, while the lines of Jack’s mouth became
even more stern.
“Silly!” observed Priscilla. “We _are_ home. Home’s where Jack and Desiré
are.”
Desiré smiled up at Jack, and leaned back to squeeze her little sister’s
arm.
“Shall we try to make our sales before supper, and then camp outside of
town?” asked Jack; “or shall we eat, and then sell afterwards.”
“Sell first. Work before pleasure,” Desiré decided promptly.
At a house far beyond the church they came to a halt, and Desiré leaned
from the wagon to call to a small boy in blue overalls, who sat on the
gate watching them—“Tell your mother that old Simon’s wagon is here,
please, and ask her if she wants anything.”
Without a word the little fellow slid down and ran into the house. Almost
immediately a tall, loose-jointed man, whose resemblance to the child was
marked, came out and crossed the yard.
“The missus is sick,” he explained, “but I know what she wants. She’s
been talkin’ of nothin’ else for days. Buttons, five yards of calico, a
pencil for the boy, and a few pounds of sugar. Got old Simon’s route for
good?”
“I’m not sure. He’s sick in Yarmouth now.”
“So? That’s too bad. Are you going on up the Bay?”
“Expect to,” replied Jack, giving the man his purchases and counting out
change.
“When you get to Digby would you tell the lady in the knickknack store
that I’ll sell her the pitcher?”
“Glad to, if you’ll tell me how to find her.”
“Her store is the first one of its kind that you’ll pass. She catches all
the tourists by a window full of trash, and a sign ‘Souvenir Shoppe’ or
something like that. She was out here a few weeks ago looking for stuff,
and wanted that pitcher, but the wife didn’t want to sell it then. Since
she’s been sick, though, she’s more concerned about money than about old
pitchers.”
After several more stops, most of which resulted in sales, Jack pulled
off of the main road into a balsam grove, just before dusk.
“You children scamper around and find some dried wood for a fire,” he
directed, swinging René down, and going to unharness the horses.
“Do you intend to build a fire in here, Jack?” asked Desiré doubtfully.
“No, on the sand across the road. Take some bacon and whatever else you
need from the stock while I feed Dapple and Dolly.”
By the time he had made several trips with great armfuls of grass which
he had pulled for the animals, Desiré had gathered together her supplies,
and with the children’s help made a fire on the beach and set out their
supper. When Jack appeared, he took charge of the frying of the bacon
himself.
“Isn’t this _fun_?” demanded Priscilla every few minutes. “Just like a
picnic; and lots nicer than eating in a house.”
“Lots nicer,” echoed René, adding, “Now tell me a story.”
“Oliver Owl’s mother had told him again and again that he must not go
anywhere near the big cave where the wicked witch Gamona lived,” began
Jack slowly; “but Oliver was getting so big and strong that he thought he
knew how to take care of himself. He had never seen the old woman, of
whom all the forest folks spoke in whispers. So, early one evening, his
curiosity got the better of him; and while his mother was making the
beds—”
“Jack!” interrupted Priscilla, patronizingly, “people don’t make beds at
night!”
“The owls do,” he replied gravely, “because they sleep in them all day
and go out only at night. Around the big home tree he fluttered
carelessly a while; then, suddenly, off like a shot toward a big pile of
rocks whose top he could just see. Not a soul did he meet when he reached
them, not a sound did he hear except the murmuring of a little breeze in
the very top of the pines. So fast had he hurried that he was a very
tired bird, and besides the aching of his wings he felt just a little bit
doubtful about what would happen to him when he got home. So he alighted
on the very highest rock of the big pile to rest, and decided how he
would explain his absence to his mother. Hardly had he settled himself
comfortably when a huge claw-like hand shot up from below him and grabbed
his feet—”
“Oh!” squealed René.
“With a loud squawk he flapped his wings, and, bending and twisting as
well as he could, managed to run his sharp beak into the fingers which
grasped him. In the instant which was necessary for Gamona to get a fresh
grip, Oliver struggled free; and you may believe that he lost no time in
flying away from that dangerous spot. Instead of going right home,
however, he went to see Glooscap, and tell him what had happened.
“‘My eyes are so small, I can’t see very well,’ he complained, after he
had told the whole story.
“‘I’ll fix that,’ replied Glooscap, stroking the bird’s eyes until they
became larger and larger and rounder and rounder. ‘Now you’ll be able to
see her wherever you are. Keep faithful watch of her, and notify all the
other creatures at night when she is near.’ So that is why the owl has
such big eyes, and sits up in the trees crying ‘Who-o-o!’ all night long.
“And now you must go to bed.”
Leaving Priscilla to clear up and keep an eye on René, Jack and Desiré
crossed to the grove to get things in order for the night. The tent was
small, and after several unsuccessful attempts they succeeded in getting
it up. Jack cut some balsam boughs for a mattress, and over them Desiré
spread blankets, placing a couple of cushions for pillows. The floor of
the nearby wagon was fixed in like manner for the two girls. René and
Priscilla went to bed as soon as their quarters were ready for them, but
Jack and Desiré, seated on a fallen log at the edge of the grove,
lingered to watch the moon rising over the Bay and turning its smooth
surface to silver. Fireflies flashed in the long grass at the edge of the
grove, and deeper in the woods were mysterious little rustles and
murmurs.
“The old settlers,” said Jack softly, “thought the fireflies were evil
spirits, and used to set out pails of milk to appease them, and thus keep
themselves and their property from all harm.”
“If they were as thick then as they are tonight,” laughed Desiré, “think
how many pails they must have had. You know so many things, Jack”;
adding, a moment later, something which had been on her mind all day.
“Do you suppose that man will ever come back?”
“You mean the one who disputed our rights?”
Desiré nodded, burying her face on her brother’s shoulder, much as
Priscilla might have done.
“I hardly think so, dear,” replied Jack, stroking her curls. “He was
pretty well subdued.”
“But he might try to get even with you some way,” shuddered the girl.
“We’ll keep a sharp lookout for him, but otherwise go on our way and try
not to worry about mere possibilities, little sister,” decreed the boy
firmly.
“If we could only find out what the paper means,” she observed a little
later, her eyes on the shining waters of the Bay.
“What paper?” asked Jack suddenly, roused from serious thoughts of his
own.
“Why, the one _nôtre père_ gave you; the mysterious one.”
“We might stop in the center of each town, read it aloud, and ask the
inhabitants to interpret it for us,” Jack suggested. “Or you and I could
take turns standing on top of the wagon and shouting it as we go along.”
Desiré laughed at his absurdities, as he intended she should.
“I don’t care. I’m going to pretend that we’re going to find out what it
means before the summer is over.”
“Pretend as much as you like, as long as you won’t let yourself be
overcome with disappointment if your day dream should turn out to be only
a nightmare.”
A crash behind them made them spring to their feet in sudden fright, and
a child’s shrieks rang through the woods.