BACK TO YARMOUTH
“I meant to give her a few directions,” said Jack, picking up the
suitcase she had dropped at his feet, and gazing after the child.
“We had a long talk last night after I went to bed,” replied Desiré; “and
I think she will do just as we should like to have her. Prissy is growing
up a bit, Jack; she really tried to be brave and generous about being
left behind on this trip.”
When they were ready to start, the judge and his housekeeper stood on the
steps to bid them goodbye and good luck.
“Don’t feel that you’ve got to hurry back,” called Judge Herbine as the
horses started. “We’ll take good care of the little girl, and keep an eye
on the cabin. Won’t hurt you to have a bit of a vacation.”
“I’ve gotten awfully fond of him; haven’t you, Jack?” asked Desiré,
looking back to wave her hand at the judge.
“Yes; he’s a fine old fellow.”
After they had been riding an hour or two, René demanded suddenly—“When
are we goin’ to sell somethin’?”
“Not going to,” replied Jack briefly.
“You see,” explained Desiré, “if we stopped every little while it would
take too long to get to Yarmouth; and Jack is in a hurry.”
“I really should have started before, I suppose,” remarked her brother;
“but I was afraid the roads might be in poor condition. Besides, it would
have been too cool and damp for camping, and I didn’t want to give up the
job until I had to.”
“You’n me goin’ to sleep in the tent again?” inquired René, poking the
roll of canvas.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. I like tents better’n houses.”
“You wouldn’t in the winter,” laughed Desiré. “I’ll miss Prissy. The
wagon will seem big for me after last year.”
“Are we goin’ to give Simon the horses and wagon?” inquired René in
alarm, a new thought suddenly occurring to him.
“We’re going to give them _back_ to him,” said Jack. “They belong to him,
you know. He only lent them to us.”
“Oh! Oh! But I never can walk all the way back again,” he wailed.
“Stop crying,” ordered Jack; “and you won’t have to walk all the way
back. You cry altogether too much. You’re getting to be too big a boy to
act like a baby; you must learn to act like a man.”
“We’re going back on the train, darling,” said Desiré softly. Somehow she
liked to think of René as a baby rather than as a “man.”
“On a train!” squealed René. “I’m awful glad I came.”
The weather stayed pleasant, and no accidents of any kind befell the
Wistmores on their journey to Yarmouth; it seemed strangely uneventful by
contrast with the trip up the preceding summer. They had decided that it
was best to forego the pleasure of calling on old friends, even those in
Sissiboo, and get on to Yarmouth just as quickly as possible. It was
after dark when they passed their old home. René was asleep, and Jack and
Desiré gazed at the familiar outlines in silence. The windows showed
squares of yellow light, and a few sparks floated out of the chimney.
Those were the only signs of life about the place; in fact the whole town
was deserted. All the people seemed to have withdrawn to their homes for
the night.
Shortly before noon one warm day they stopped in front of Mrs. Chaisson’s
house in Yarmouth. Before they had a chance to get out, old Simon himself
came hurrying out from the back yard.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, throwing open the gate. “As soon
as ever I heard hoofs on the street, I says to myself, ‘There’s Dolly and
Dapple.’ How are ye all?”
He stopped to speak affectionately to the horses, who responded in their
own fashion to his advances; and then he called his daughter.
“Matty!” he shouted. “Here’s the Wistmores.”
Mrs. Chaisson hurried out and greeted them warmly, inquiring for
Priscilla whom she missed at once.
After embraces and explanations, Mrs. Chaisson invited them all to “come
right in to dinner,” adding that she must have felt they were on the way,
for she cooked more than usual.
After several days of camp fare, the meal tasted delicious to the hungry
travelers, and they spent a long time at the table.
“You’ll stay here, of course, while you’re in town,” said Mrs. Chaisson
decidedly.
“It’s most awfully kind of you,” began Jack, “but it really seems too
much—”
“Nonsense! There were four of you last time, and we had lots of fun.
Didn’t we, René? And now we’ve got a dog for you to play with. Run out in
the back yard and make friends with Rex.”
The child departed joyfully; old Simon and Jack withdrew to the porch to
talk over the year’s sales, and Desiré helped with the dinner work.
That evening after René had been put to bed—Mrs. Chaisson had decreed the
season too early for sleeping on the porch, and had placed a cot in one
corner of old Simon’s room for the little boy—the rest of them gathered
around the air tight stove in the sitting room. The evenings were likely
to be cool, and even Rex crept in to lie at their feet and enjoy the
welcome heat of a wood fire.
“Matty,” began her father, “I was tellin’ the young feller,” laying his
hand on Jack’s knee as he spoke, “he’d better stay on here until after
the lobsters are in.”
“A good idea, if he doesn’t need to hurry back,” agreed Mrs. Chaisson,
picking up her sewing.
“You see,” went on the old man, turning to Desiré, “there’s quite a bit
of profit in lobsters, and the boy says he has nothin’ in sight for the
present; so why not pick up a few dollars?”
She did not know how to reply on the spur of the moment, and looked at
Jack for inspiration.
“I don’t know a thing about the business,” said the boy slowly.
“Huh! I can teach ye all ye need to know in half a day,” declared the old
man.
“Yes, indeed. Father’s a good hand at it, or was before he got the
rheumatism,” said his daughter, biting off her thread.
“Now I’ll tell ye just what I thought,” said Simon. “I’ve an old hut down
on the shore toward Lower Woods Harbor way, and pots and markers enough
for you. Many of them need mending, but I’ll show you how to do that; and
I thought mebbe you’d take the outfit, if this girl don’t mind roughing
it a bit—”
“But—” began Jack.
“Let her stay here,” suggested Mrs. Chaisson. “I’m lonesome after you go
on the road.”
“Oh, you are very kind,” said Desiré quickly, “but I really couldn’t
leave Jack.”
“But,” began Jack again, “I couldn’t deprive you of the lobster catching,
Simon. It was bad enough taking your store for a year, without—”
“Takin’ nothing!” interrupted the old man vehemently. “Didn’t you keep my
horses from eating their heads off all year, and keep my trade from goin’
to some one else fer good? Besides, I can’t catch lobsters any more. Doc
says that messin’ in the water’s bad for my rheumatiz. Goin’ to give up
the hut after this year anyway; so if you want to stay and take it,
you’re more’n welcome.”
They discussed the matter all the evening, until Simon got up to go to
bed, and his daughter withdrew to her room which Desiré was to share. To
Jack fell the big sofa in the living room. He and Desiré sat on beside
the fire for a few minutes after they were left alone.
“What do you think of it, Dissy? Shall I take it or not?”
“I hardly know what to say; but there’s no reason I can think of why you
shouldn’t, if it looks good to you.”
“Of course I have no other immediate prospects; but it would be rough and
lonesome for you, I’m afraid—”
“Lonesome, with you around? As for being rough, it will be fun to try a
different way of living for a few weeks.”
Secretly Desiré rather longed for the coziness of the Godet house, but
she thought Jack felt he should make the most of every opportunity for
earning money, and she wanted to make things as easy for him as possible.
The next morning, with a big basket of lunch in the back of the wagon,
they all drove down to the hut, René wild with excitement. An hour’s
drive brought them to the bleak, deserted coast. Nothing but sand, jagged
rocks, coarse grass, and scattered huts met their eyes. They left the
team just off the road beside a clump of juniper, and crossed the sand to
the hut. When Simon unlocked the door, the interior seemed to be a jumble
of lumber.
“Get all these pots out in a jiffy,” he said, picking up a couple of
crate-like objects and depositing them outside.
They all helped, and soon the pots were piled up beside the hut.
The rooms were tiny, only two in number, a bedroom and a general room;
and the furniture was scanty.
“You can’t possibly live here, Dissy,” whispered Jack.
“Go on and learn how to catch the beasts, and I’ll attend to the house,”
she replied with forced cheeriness.
So Mrs. Chaisson and Desiré cleaned and set in perfect order the tiny
wooden building, while Simon taught Jack how to make and repair lobster
pots. They look like oblong crates, and are made of narrow strips of wood
bent into a semi-circle and nailed onto a board. A couple of holes are
left for the lobsters to crawl in, and the whole is lined with coarse
net, and weighted with heavy stones.
At noon they spread the lunch on a huge flat boulder on the beach.
“Lots nicer than an old table,” René pronounced it.
“You’ll have no trouble in roughing it as far as he’s concerned,” laughed
Mrs. Chaisson.
“No; he’s usually satisfied with what he has,” replied Desiré.
“No, I ain’t,” contradicted the child.
“Why, Renny,” said Jack in surprise.
“Well, Dissy said I was satisfied, and I ain’t. I want a dog.”
“Maybe when we go home you can have one,” said Jack, adding to Desiré,
“It wouldn’t be a bad plan at all, if we stay in Wolfville.”
René, as happy as if the desired pet were to be forthcoming on the
morrow, returned to his play in the sand.
“Now,” said Simon, when all traces of lunch had been cleared up, “we’ll
all paint markers.”
The long stakes with big wooden knobs on the top were weather beaten, and
their bands of orange and green were dim. Each fisherman has a different
kind of marker, and sets one up beside each pot after it is sunk beneath
the water. They serve two purposes: mark the place where the pot is
located, and notify other fishermen of their ownership. It is a serious
matter for anyone to touch lobsters guarded by the markers of another
person. It is interesting to note the numberless varieties of color
combinations, styles of banding, and shapes of knobs.
It was a tired crowd of workers that returned to Yarmouth that evening;
for although everything was ready in the hut for the new occupants, Mrs.
Chaisson insisted upon their going back for “one more really comfortable
sleep” as she expressed it.
“How do we get back and forth from the huts?” inquired Desiré, the
following morning.
“I’ll take ye out,” answered Simon, “and when you want to come in, you’ll
have to walk until you meet somebody who’s goin’ your way and who will
give you a lift.”
Jack wrote to the judge, telling him of their plans and probable delay;
both he and Desiré wrote short notes to Priscilla; and before noon they
were settled in their temporary home, Desiré helping Jack get the lobster
pots ready to sink, while René lay at full length in the sand poking at a
jellyfish. None of them saw a figure walk along the road, stop, watch for
a while, then move silently across the grass and along the sand until it
stood directly back of the workers.