THE BLUE-COVERED BOOK
Several days later, one beautiful sunny morning, Dapple and Dolly were
trotting briskly along the Shore Road toward Digby. For more than two
miles this road winds along the shore of Digby Basin, formed by the Bay
of Fundy waters flowing through a mile wide break in the North Mountain
Range.
“That,” said Jack, pointing to the opening between the mountains, “is
Digby Gap, or, as the natives call it, ‘Digby Gut.’ In olden days all the
fishing boats used to stop there on their way home long enough for the
fishermen to clean their fish, and throw all the ‘guts’ or insides into
the water.”
“What a horrid name!” was Priscilla’s comment.
“It’s lovely here, though,” observed Desiré, gazing across the sparkling
water to the hazy blue sides of the two big mountains opposite, and back
again to the forested slopes beside the wagon.
“We must look out for the little shop the man told us about,” remarked
Priscilla, to whom the scenery meant very little.
“Well, you watch for it, Prissy,” directed Jack. Then, turning to Desiré,
“Didn’t we get a royal welcome in Sissiboo?”
“Yes; in spite of their disapproval, our old friends were wonderful to
us; between the sales we made, and their generous donations, we certainly
fared well.”
“Oh, Jack, there’s a bus!” cried Desiré delightedly a few minutes later.
A big blue monster bore down upon them, and they had a glimpse of
well-dressed people through its windows; then it was gone in a cloud of
dust.
“Must be coming from the hotel,” commented her brother. “I understand
there’s a big one up here somewhere above the town.”
“I’d love to ride in one of those,” said Priscilla, gazing longingly down
the road after the now distant bus. “Wouldn’t you, Desiré?”
“Yes, I should. Perhaps some time we’ll be able to, but not now.”
They drove into the little town, and soon spied the shop of which they
were in search.
“You go in and give the lady the message, Desiré,” said Jack, pulling up
the team.
Desiré was inclined to be rather too retiring with strangers, and her
brother thought she should begin to overcome her diffidence.
“Oh, Jack,” she cried, running out again a couple of minutes later, after
delivering her message. “Who do you suppose keeps the shop? The lady who
helped me find René on the steamer! It’s the most interesting place. Do
come in and see it. She says we can look around as much as we wish.”
“I was going on for some more stock—we’re all out of crackers and a few
other things—but you stay, if you wish; I’ll come back for you.”
“Don’t you need me?” she asked doubtfully.
“No; so look at as many things as you can before I get back.”
Desiré, with a happy “Thanks a lot,” ran back into the quaint little
shop, while Jack drove on, thinking how sweet she was and how little time
she had for herself or her own interests.
The morning was not a busy one at the shop; so the proprietress, a
well-groomed New England woman, was free to devote her time to Desiré, to
whom she had taken a fancy. Pleased to see that the girl was more
interested in the pictures and books than in the foolish toys made to
attract tourist trade, she took pains to call her attention to the best
that the little store possessed.
“This is an interesting little account of the early history of this
country and some of its settlers,” said Miss Robin, who was a teacher of
history in one of the Boston schools, and whose mind naturally centered
on her subject.
Desiré took the small blue-bound book in her hands and carefully turned
its pages, reading bits here and there.
“Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed aloud.
“What is it?” inquired Miss Robin, looking up from a pile of picture
postcards she was putting in order.
“The story of our own ancestors is told here.”
Miss Robin came to look over her shoulder and read:
“In the year 1744 when the question of Acadian loyalty to England
resulted in the Expulsion, Jean Godet with Marie, his wife, and Desiré,
his little daughter, were driven as exiles from Wolfville to the
States. They settled near Boston, and some years later Desiré married
one John Wistmore, a descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins.
When the Revolutionary War broke out, being loyal Royalists, they
returned to Nova Scotia and took up farming in Wilmot, later removing
to Sissiboo.”
“I have heard my father tell that same story so many, many times,” said
Desiré, looking up at Miss Robin.
“They were really your ancestors, then?” asked that lady. “How very
interesting.”
“But this last part he never told us,” continued the girl, indicating the
closing words of the article.
“The ruins of the old Godet house near Wolfville may still be seen; for
the site was never occupied for any length of time after the family was
deported.”
“You must look it up if you ever go to Wolfville,” said Miss Robin.
“Oh, yes, indeed. We expect to get up there some time before winter
comes, and I’ll surely hunt for the place.”
“Keep the little book,” urged Miss Robin, when Desiré, catching sight of
Jack, laid the volume on the counter; “and if you come back before I go
home, stop and tell me what success you had.”
“Maybe,” began Desiré, then stopped abruptly—she’d keep _that_ to
herself; so she merely thanked Miss Robin warmly, and ran out to the
wagon.
“I thought we’d have dinner at one of the little restaurants here,” said
Jack, after she had displayed her treasure, “and then push on.”
From the counter of the lunchroom which they selected, they could see the
long government pier with the lighthouse at the end; and beside it was
moored one of the steamers which cross the Bay of Fundy to St. John, New
Brunswick. René was greatly disappointed because they were not going
aboard.
“The child’s passion for boats is rivaled only by his passion for
Indians,” observed Desiré, as they left the lunchroom.
“He’ll see plenty of the latter at Bear River.”
Desiré looked questioningly at her brother.
“That is,” he replied, “if we get there in time for the Cherry Festival,
day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, Jack, can we?”
“Going to try hard to make it.”
Clouds had been slowly gathering since noon, and about five o’clock great
drops of rain hit the dusty road with little “plops.”
“Big drops; won’t last long,” prophesied Desiré; but Jack let down the
curtains at the side of the seat, and drew out a rubber blanket to spread
over their laps. Before they had covered two miles, the rain was coming
down in earnest, and Jack turned off the road into the pine woods.
“Wonder if we can keep dry here,” he said, half to himself. “Can’t
possibly get to the next town tonight.”
“We’ll have supper right away before the rain begins to come through the
trees,” decided Desiré, jumping out.
The pine-covered ground was still dry, and it was very cosy under the
thick boughs of the tall trees. The persistent patter of the rain and the
murmuring of a brisk little breeze in the tree tops added to their sense
of comfort and security.
“If it doesn’t rain any harder than this, we should be able to manage
pretty well,” said Desiré encouragingly, as Jack peered anxiously skyward
every little while.
Conversation turned upon the book Miss Robin had given Desiré, and then
drifted to Nova Scotian history.
“I’m awfully stupid; but it seems to me such a hopeless jumble,” sighed
Desiré.
“Maybe I can straighten it out for you by taking bare facts, and not
going into detail at all,” said Jack. “Just think of it this way,” he
went on. “About the year 1000 a man called Leif the Lucky came here from
Iceland, found the country in the possession of the Micmac Indians, and
left it to them.
“John Cabot touched here in 1497, and claimed the land for England. In
1606 Samuel de Champlain and some other Frenchman settled at Annapolis
Royal, which they called Port Royal. A few years later the English
destroyed it, and some of the inhabitants fled to the shores of the Basin
of Minas and built the village of Grand Pré.”
“Oh, where Evangeline lived!” interrupted Priscilla.
“Yes, and where they all lived until 1747, that is, the French who were
driven out of Port Royal.”
“And what made the English drive those people away from their homes?”
inquired Priscilla. “I don’t mean from Port Royal, but from Grand Pré,
like Longfellow tells about in _Evangeline_?”
“They thought the French people were not loyal to the British government;
for the country then belonged to England. To go back to our story, in
1629 the King of Scotland gave the entire country to a friend of his, and
the name was changed from Acadia to Nova Scotia, which means New
Scotland. From that time until 1710 the land was claimed by both France
and England, and was in possession of first one and then the other.
Finally Great Britain secured it for good. Is it any clearer now?”
“Oh, yes, lots; you make everything so plain, I wish I knew as much as
you do,” sighed Desiré admiringly.
“I hope some day you will know lots more,” smiled Jack, adding, “I’m
afraid we’re in for a wetting. I have felt several splashes of rain. The
trees are getting so heavy with water that it will shower down upon us
before long.”
“Then you simply can’t sleep in the tent,” said Desiré decidedly.
“Nothing else for it; there’s no room in the wagon.”
“Let me think a minute,” said Desiré. “I have it! We’ll push the trunk
and box side by side and put René on them, at our feet; and you can sleep
on the wagon seat. You’ll have to double up, but it will be better than
getting so damp in the tent.”
“We didn’t count on a pour like this while we were on the road,” said
Jack. “Too bad we were not near enough to a town to get lodgings.”
“But we could hardly afford that; and besides, this is going to be lots
of fun. Priscilla, you and René run up and down in that dry path over
there while we fix things,” directed Desiré.
“The boughs will be too wet to use for beds,” said Jack, moving the trunk
close to the box at the very back of the wagon.
“We’ll just spread the blankets on the floor, then,” declared Desiré,
briskly.
“But you’ll be wretchedly uncomfortable,” objected her brother.
“Won’t hurt us a bit once in a while. I’ll hang this rubber blanket in
front of the seat, and a sheet back of it; and with the side curtains
down, and a blanket to spread over you, you’ll be fairly well off, won’t
you?” she asked, working rapidly as she talked.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t bother about me.”
When everything was ready, they called the two children and settled down
for the night.
“Don’t be frightened if you hear a noise once in a while,” said Jack, as
they settled down; “for I shall have to turn around occasionally to
stretch my legs.”
“Yes, poor boy; they are far too long for your bed tonight. I hope Renny
won’t roll off the trunk; but if he does, he’ll fall on top of us and
won’t be hurt.”
“Oh, let’s go—to—sleep—” yawned Priscilla.
“An excellent idea,” agreed Jack; and the little family lay quietly
listening to the drip of the rain until they fell asleep.
All night long Desiré dreamed of papering the old Godet house, inside and
out, with mysterious figures and letters, which fell off as fast as she
pasted them onto it.
The sun was shining brightly as they drove down the hillside at Bear
River the second morning after, and into the ravine where dyked lands
border the river. Hundreds of cherry trees loaded with brilliant fruit
were on every side, and on the water was clustered the craft of those who
were to take part in the sports later in the day.
“What funny river banks,” commented Priscilla.
“The ground is below the level of the river,” explained Jack; “and the
banks have to be built up of interlaced tree trunks filled in with clay
to keep the water from running over the land. They are called dykes.”
“Indians!” cried René, full of excitement, pointing to a group nearby.
Already great numbers of them had come from a neighboring reservation for
the games. Under the heavily loaded trees, people from far and wide
wandered about, tasting first one variety of fruit and then another.
Groups of tourists watched from the roadside, or took part in the
feasting.
Jack found a safe place for the wagon, and, after locking it, took his
little family to obtain their share of the cherries which are free to all
on that particular day in mid-July each year. Shortly before noon, they
carried their lunch to a shady slope from which they had a good view of
the place where the sports were to be held. By two o’clock, the fun was
in full swing. All kinds of races, on both land and water; throwing
contests; log rolling tests; and games of skill or endurance. Anyone
could take part, and Desiré urged Jack to enter some of them; but he
preferred to remain a spectator. He loved all kinds of sports, and was
perfectly fearless; but the chance of possible injury now, when he was
the head of the family, kept him from taking part. The Indians were the
most clever participants, and frequently won, much to René’s delight.
“The youngster sure likes the Indians,” observed a man who sat next to
Jack. “Used to be scared of ’em when I was a kid. You ought to take him
to the St. Anne’s celebration some time.”
“What’s that?” inquired Jack.
“Every year the Indians make a pilgrimage to the Island of the Holy
Family, round the 21st of July, and live up there in birch bark tepees
until after the feast, on the 26th.”
“What do they do?” asked Desiré, leaning forward to look at the narrator.
“Well, every morning they go to Mass and attend to all their religious
duties, and very often there are weddings and First Communions. If
there’s been any quarreling or disputing during the year, the differences
are patched up. Then in the evenings they dance and play games.”
“What kind of games?” asked René, who was eagerly listening to every
word.
“Oh, whinny, hatchet throwing, deer foot, wheel and stick, hunt the
button—”
“Oh, I can play that,” interrupted René, with just satisfaction.
“It’s a sight worth going a distance to see,” concluded the man.
“I imagine so,” replied Jack; “but I’m afraid we won’t get there this
year. I have old Simon’s traveling store this summer, and—”
“You have? Then you want to open it up when these games are over; for a
crowd like this is almost always in need of some kind of supplies.
Anyway, they’re sure to buy something, whether they need it or not.”
Jack acted on the suggestion, and made so many sales that when the people
finally drifted homeward it was too late to go on that night. They put up
in a woods just outside of the town, and after supper Desiré made a
discovery that did not altogether please her.
“Did you know that some Indians are camped a little farther down the
road?” she asked Jack.
“Yes. They may be on their way to the festival of St. Anne’s that the man
spoke of this afternoon. I’m sure they’re quite harmless.”
“Oh, I want to see them!” exclaimed René, starting up.
With a quick move, Jack caught the end of the child’s blouse and
prevented his departure.
“You’ve seen plenty of Indians today to last you for one while, young
man. Besides, it’s your bedtime.”
“No! No!” wailed René, twisting in his brother’s grasp.
“He’s tired,” murmured Desiré sympathetically.
“Can’t act like this, even if he is,” said Jack firmly. “René, behave
yourself or you’ll have to be punished.”
The tantrum showed no signs of abating; so Jack promptly picked him up
and started for a nearby stream, much to his sister’s distress; though
she never dreamed of interfering when Jack decided that disciplinary
measures were necessary.
Upon reaching the brook, Jack held the boy securely and ducked him a
couple of times. Since the purpose of the procedure was punishment, it
was rather disconcerting to have the child’s tantrum cries change
suddenly into squeals of delight.
“Oh, Jack,” he sputtered, “do it again. I _love_ the water.”
Even the serious Jack, in spite of his stern resolves, was quite overcome
by the humor of the situation; so he decided to say no more about
punishment. However, when he got back to the wagon, he rubbed the little
fellow down and put him to bed, refusing Desiré’s assistance. He and
Desiré enjoyed a good laugh over the incident when the younger children
were safe in bed.
“Well, this time tomorrow night, I hope we’ll be in Annapolis Royal,” he
said, shortly after; “and being a longish drive, I guess we’d better go
to bed now.”
That interesting old town was not to see them on the morrow, however.
Jack was the first to waken on the following morning, much later than
usual, and was surprised to find his tent mate gone. Peering out toward
the wagon, he saw Desiré getting out of the back of it.
“Dissy,” he called, using René’s name for her.
“Yes? I was just going to waken you. I’m awfully sorry, but we overslept
this morning—”
“Have you seen René?” he interrupted.
“No! Isn’t he with you?”
Desiré stood still, letting the pan which she had in her hand fall to the
ground.