CHAPTER XX.
WITH THE WATERCROWS.
"Her mouth was ever agape, Her ears were ever ajar; If you wanted to find a sweeter fool, You shouldn't have come this far."
--_Old Song._
When the meal was at last prepared, and the whole family were assembledin the sitting-room, where the table had been drawn from the kitchen,they took a united view of Vesper's back; then Claude a Sucre was sentto escort him to the house.
With a rapturous face Mirabelle Marie surveyed the steaming dish of_soupe a la patate_ (potato soup), the mound of buttered toast, thewedge of tough fried steak, the strips of raw dried codfish, the pinkcake, and fancy biscuits. Surely the stranger would be impressed by themagnificence of this display, and she glanced wonderingly at Bidiane,whose eyes were lowered to the floor. The little girl had enjoyedadvantages superior to her own, in that she mingled freely in Englishsociety, where she herself--Mirabelle Marie--was strangely shunned.Could it be that she was ashamed of this board? Certainly she couldnever have seen anything much grander; and, swelling with gratifiedpride and ambition, the mistress of the household seated herself behindher portly teapot, from which vantage-ground she beamed, huge and silly,like a full-grown moon upon the occupants of the table.
Her guest was not hungry, apparently, for he scarcely touched the dishesthat she pressed upon him. However, he responded so gracefully and withsuch well-bred composure to her exhortations that he should eat hisfill, for there was more in the cellar, that she was far from resentinghis lack of appetite. He was certainly a "boss young man;" and as shesat, delicious visions swam through her brain of new implements for thefarm, a new barn, perhaps, new furniture for the house, with possibly anorgan, a spick and span wagon, and a horse, or even a pair, and theeventual establishment of her two sons in Boston,--the El Dorado of herimagination,--where they would become prosperous merchants, and makeheaps of gold for their mother to spend.
In her excitement she began to put her food in her mouth with bothhands, until reminded that she was flying in the face of Englishetiquette by a vigorous kick administered under the table by Bidiane.
Vesper, with an effort, called back his painful wandering thoughts,which had indeed gone down the Bay, and concentrated them upon thispicturesquely untidy family. This was an entirely differentestablishment from that of the Sleeping Water Inn. Fortunately there wasno grossness, no clownishness of behavior, which would have irreparablyoffended his fastidious taste. They were simply uncultured, scrambling,and even interesting with the background of this old homestead, whichwas one of the most ancient that he had seen on the Bay, and which hadprobably been built by some of the early settlers.
While he was quietly making his observations, the family finished theirmeal, and seeing that they were waiting for him to give the signal forleaving the table, he politely rose and stepped behind his chair.
Mirabelle Marie scurried to her feet and pushed the table against thewall. Then the whole family sat down in a semicircle facing a large openfireplace heaped high with the accumulated rubbish of the summer, andbreathlessly waited for the stranger to tell them of his place of birth,the amount of his fortune, his future expectations and hopes, hisintentions with regard to Bidiane, and of various and sundry othermatters that might come in during the course of their conversation.
Vesper, with his usual objection to having any course of action mappedout for him, sat gazing imperturbably at them. He was really sorry forMirabelle Marie, who was plainly bursting with eagerness. Her husbandwas more reserved, yet he, too, was suffering from suppressed curiosity,and timidly and wistfully handled his pipe, that he longed to and yetdid not dare to smoke.
His two small boys sat dangling their legs from seats that wereuncomfortably high for them. They were typical Acadien children,--shy,elusive, and retreating within themselves in the presence of strangers;and if, by chance, Vesper caught a stealthy glance from one of them, thelittle fellow immediately averted his glossy head, as if afraid that thecalm eyes of the stranger might lay bare the inmost secrets of hisyouthful soul.
Bidiane was the most interesting of the group. She was evidently a bornmanager and the ruling spirit in the household, for he could see thatthey all stood in awe of her. She must possess some force of will toenable her to subdue her natural eagerness and vivacity, so as to appearsober and reserved. His presence was evidently a constraint to thelittle red-haired witch, and he could scarcely have understood hercharacter, if Agapit had not supplied him with a key to it.
Young as she was, she acutely appreciated the racial differences abouther. There were two worlds in her mind,--French and English. Thecareless predilections of her aunt had become fierce prejudices withher, and, at present, although she was proud to have an Englishman undertheir roof, she was at the same time tortured by the contrast that sheknew he must find between the humble home of her relatives and the moreprosperous surroundings of the English people with whom he wasaccustomed to mingle.
"She is a clever little imp," Agapit had said, "and wise beyond heryears."
Vesper, when his unobtrusive examination of her small resolved face wasover, glanced about the low, square room in which they sat. The sun wasjust leaving it. The family would soon be thinking of going to bed. Allaround the room were other rooms evidently used as sleeping apartments,for through a half-open door he saw an unmade bed, and he knew, from theconstruction of the house, that there was no upper story.
After a time the silence became oppressive, and Mirabelle Marie, seeingthat the stranger would not entertain her, set herself to the task ofentertaining him, and with an ingratiating and insinuating smileinformed him that the biggest liar on the Bay lived in Bleury.
"His name's Bill," she said, "Blowin' Bill Duckfoot, an' the boys git'round him an' say, 'Give us a yarn.' He says, 'Well, give me a chaw of'baccy,' then he starts off. 'Onct when I went to sea'--he's never binoff the Bay, you know--'it blowed as hard as it could for ten days. Thenit blowed ten times harder. We had to lash the cook to the mast.' 'Whatdid you do when you wanted grub?' says the boys. 'Oh, we unlashed himfor awhile,' says Bill. 'One day the schooner cracked from stern tostem. Cap'en and men begun to holler and says we was goin' to thebottom.' 'Cheer up,' says Bill, 'I'll fix a way.' So he got 'em to lashthe anchor chains 'roun' the schooner, an' that hold 'em together tillthey got to Boston, and there was nothin' too good for Bill. It wascousin Duckfoot, an' brother Duckfoot, and good frien' Duckfoot, andlots of treatin'."
Vesper in suppressed astonishment surveyed Mirabelle Marie, who, at theconclusion of her story, burst into a fit of such hearty laughter thatshe seemed to be threatened there and then with a fit of apoplexy. Herface grew purple, tears ran down her cheeks, and through eyes that hadbecome mere slits in her face she looked at Claude, who too wasconvulsed with amusement, at her two small boys, who giggled behindtheir hands, and at Bidiane, who only smiled sarcastically.
Vesper at once summoned an expression of interest to his face, andMirabelle Marie, encouraged by it, caught her breath with an explosivesound, wiped the tears from her eyes, and at once continued. "Here'sanother daisy one. 'Onct,' says Bill, 'all han's was lost 'cept me an' anigger. I went to the stern as cap'en, and he to the bow as deck-han'. Abig wave struck the schooner, and when we righted, wasn't the nigger atstern as cap'en, an' I was at bow as deck-han'!'"
While Vesper was waiting for the conclusion of the story, a burst ofjoyous cachinnation assured him that it had already come. MirabelleMarie was again rocking herself to and fro in immoderate delight, herhead at each dip forward nearly touching her knees, while her husbandwas slapping his side vigorously.
Vesper laughed himself. Truly there were many different orders of mindin the universe. He saw nothing amusing in the reported exploits of theliar Duckfoot. They also would not have brought a smile to the face ofhis beautiful
Rose, yet the Corbineaus, or Watercrows, as theytranslated their name in order to make themselves appear English, foundthese stories irresistibly comical. It was a blessing for them that theydid so, otherwise the whole realm of humor might be lost to them; and hewas going off in a dreamy speculation with regard to their other mentalproclivities, when he was roused by another story from his hostess.
"Duckfoot is a mason by trade, an' onct he built a chimbley for a woman.'Make a good draught,' says she. 'You bet,' says he, an' he built hischimbley an' runs away; as he runs he looks back, an' there was thewoman's duds that was hangin' by the fire goin' up the chimbley. He hadbuilt such a draught that nothin' could stay in the kitchen, so she hadto go down on her knees an' beg him to change it."
"To beg him to change it," vociferated Claude, and he soundly smackedhis unresisting knee. "Oh, Lord, 'ow funny!" and he roared with laughterso stimulating that he forgot his fear of Vesper and Bidiane, and,boldly lighting his pipe, put it between his lips.
Mirabelle Marie, whose flow of eloquence it was difficult to check,related several other tales of Duckfoot Bill. Many times, before therailway in this township of Clare had been built, he had told them ofhis uncle, who had, he said, a magnificent residence in Louisiana, witha park full of valuable animals called skunks. These animals he hadnever fully described, and they were consequently enveloped in a cloudof admiration and mystery, until a horde of them came with the railroadto the Bay, when the credulous Acadiens learned for themselves what theyreally were.
During the recital of this tale, Bidiane's face went from disapproval todisgust, and at last, diving under the table, she seized a basket andwent to work vigorously, as if the occupation of her fingers would easethe perturbation of her mind.
Vesper watched her closely. She was picking out the threads of oldcotton and woollen garments that had been cut into small pieces. Thesethreads would be washed, laid out on the grass to dry, and then becarded, and spun, and woven over again, according to a thrifty custom ofthe Acadiens, and made into bedcovers, stockings, and cloth. The childmust possess some industry, for this work--"pickings," as it wascalled--was usually done by the women. In brooding silence the littlegirl listened to Mirabelle Marie's final tale of Duckfoot Bill, whosewife called out to him, one day, from the yard, that there was a flockof wild geese passing over the house. Without troubling to go out, hemerely discharged his gun up the chimney beside which he sat, and theramrod, carelessly being left in, killed a certain number of geese.
"How many do you guess that ramrod run through?"
Vesper good-naturedly guessed two.
"No,--seven," she shrieked; "they was strung in a row like driedapples," and she burst into fresh peals of laughter, until suddenlyplunged into the calmness of despair by a few words from Bidiane, wholeaned over and whispered angrily to her.
Mirabelle Marie trembled, and gazed at the stranger. Was it true,--didhe wish to commend her to a less pleasant place than Bleury for teasinghim with these entrancing stories?
She could gather nothing from his face; so she entered tremulously intoa new subject of conversation, and, pointing to Claude's long legs,assured him that his heavy woollen stockings had been made entirely byBidiane. "She's smart,--as smart as a steel trap," said the aunt. "Shecan catch the sheeps, hold 'em down, shear the wool, an' spin it."
Bidiane immediately pushed her basket under the table with so fiery andresentful a glance that the unfortunate Mirabelle Marie relapsed intosilence.
"Have you ever gone to sea?" asked Vesper, of the silently smokingClaude.
"Yessir, we mos' all goes to sea when we's young."
"Onct he was wrecked," interrupted his wife.
"Yessir, I was. Off Arichat we got on a ledge. We thump up an' down. Wewas all on deck but the cook. The cap'en sends me to the galley for 'im.'E come up, we go ashore, an' the schooner go to pieces."
"Tell him about the mouse," said Bidiane, abruptly.
"The mouse?--oh, yess, when I go for the cook I find 'im in the corner,a big stick in his 'and. I dunno 'ow 'e stan'. 'Is stove was upsidedown, an' there was an awful wariwarie" (racket). "'E seem not to thinkof danger. ''Ist,' says 'e. 'Don' mek a noise,--I wan' to kill thatmouse.'"
Vesper laughed at this, and Mirabelle Marie's face cleared.
"Tell the Englishman who was the cap'en of yous," she said, impulsively,and she resolutely turned her back on Bidiane's terrific frown.
"Well, 'e was smart," said Claude, apologetically. "'E always get onthough 'e not know much. One day when 'e fus' wen' to sea 'is wife says,'All the cap'ens' wives talk about their charts, an' you ain't gut none.I buy one.' So she wen' to Yarmouth, an' buy 'im a chart. She also buysome of that shiny cloth for kitchen table w'at 'as blue scrawly lineslike writin' on it. The cap'en leave the nex' mornin' before she was up,an' 'e takes with 'im the oilcloth instid of the chart, an' 'e 'angs itin 'is cabin; 'e didn't know no differ. 'E never could write,--that man.He mek always a pictur of 'is men when 'e wan' to write the fish theyketch. But 'e was smart, very smart. 'E mek also money. Onct 'e waspassenger on a schooner that smacks ag'in a steamer in a fog. All 'an'sscuttle, 'cause that mek a big scare. They forgit 'im. 'E wake; 'e find'imself lonely. Was 'e frightful? Oh, no; 'e can't work sails, but 'esteer that schooner to Boston, an' claim salvage."
"Tell also the name of the cap'en," said Mirabelle Marie.
Claude moved uneasily in his chair, and would not speak.
"What was it?" asked Vesper.
"It was Crispin," said Mirabelle Marie, solemnly. "Crispin, the brotherof Charlitte."
Vesper calmly took a cigarette from his pocket, and lighted it.
"It is a nice place down the Bay," said Mirabelle Marie, uneasily.
"Very nice," responded her guest.
"Rose a Charlitte has a good name," she continued, "a very good name."
Vesper fingered his cigarette, and gazed blankly at her.
"They speak good French there," she said.
Her husband and Bidiane stared at her. They had never heard such asentiment from her lips before. However, they were accustomed to herways, and they soon got over their surprise.
"Do you not speak French?" asked Vesper.
Mrs. Watercrow shrugged her shoulders. "It is no good. We are allEnglish about here. How can one be French? Way back, when we went tomass, the priest was always botherin'--'Talk French to your young ones.Don't let them forgit the way the old people talked.' One day I comehome and says to my biggest boy, '_Va ramasser des ecopeaux_'" (Go pickup some chips). "He snarl at me, 'Do you mean potatoes?' He didn't likeit."
"Did he not understand you?" asked Vesper.
"Naw, naw," said Claude, bitterly. "We 'ave French nebbors, but ouryoung ones don' play with. They don' know French. My wife she speak itw'en we don' want 'em to know w'at we say."
"You always like French," said his wife, contemptuously. "I guess yougut somethin' French inside you."
Claude, for some reason or other, probably because, usually without anadvocate, he now knew that he had one in Vesper, was roused to unusualanimation. He snatched his pipe from his mouth and said, warmly, "It'sme 'art that's French, an' sometimes it's sore. I speak not much, but Ithink often we are fools. Do the Eenglish like us? No, only a few comewith us; they grin 'cause we put off our French speakin' like an olecoat. A man say to me one day, 'You 'ave nothin'. You do not go to mass,you preten' to be Protestan', w'en you not brought up to it. You bigfool, you don' know w'at it is. If you was dyin' to-morrer you'd sen'for the priest.'"
Mirabelle Marie opened her eyes wide at her husband's eloquence.
He was not yet through. "An' our children, they are silly with it. Theydonno' w'at they are. All day Sunday they play; sometimes they say cusswords. I say, 'Do it not,' 'an' they ast me w'y. I cannot tell. They arenot French, they are not Eenglish. They 'ave no religion. I donno' w'erethey go w'en they die."
Mirabelle Marie boldly determined to make confidences to the Englishmanin her turn.
"The English have loads of
money. I wish I could go to Boston. I couldmake it there,--yes, lots of it."
Claude was not to be put down. "I like our own langwidge, oh, yes," hesaid, sadly. "W'en I was a leetle boy I wen' to school. All wasEenglish. They put in my 'and an Eenglish book. I'd lef my mother, I wasstoopid. I thought all the children's teeth was broke, 'cause they spokeso strange. Never will I forgit my firs' day in school. W'y do theyteach Eenglish to the French? The words was like fish 'ooks in myflesh."
"Would you be willing to send that little girl down the Bay to a Frenchconvent?" said Vesper, waving his cigarette towards Bidiane.
"We can't pay that," said Mirabelle Marie, eagerly.
"But I would."
While she was nodding her head complacently over this, the first of thefavors to be showered on them, Claude said, slowly, "Down the Bay islike a bad, bad place to my children; they do not wish to go, not evento ride. They go towards Digby. Biddy Ann would not go to theconvent,--would she, Biddy?"
The little girl threw up her head angrily. "I hate Frenchtown, and thatblack spider, Agapit LeNoir."
Claude's face darkened, and his wife chuckled. Surely now there would benothing left for the Englishman to do but to transplant them all toBoston.
"Would you not go?" asked Vesper, addressing Bidiane.
"Not a damn step," said the girl, in a fury, and, violently pushing backher chair, she rushed from the room. If this young man wished to make aFrench girl of her, he might go on his way. She would have nothing to dowith him. And with a rebellious and angry heart at this traitor to hisrace, as she regarded him, she climbed up a ladder in the kitchen thatled to a sure hiding-place under the roof.
Her aunt clutched her head in despair. Bidiane would ruin everything."She's all eaten up to go to Boston," she gasped.
"I am not a rich man," said Vesper, coldly. "I don't feel able atpresent to propose anything further for her than to give her a year ortwo in a convent."
Mirabelle Marie gaped speechlessly at him. In one crashing ruin her newbarn, and farming implements, the wagon and horses, and trunks full offine clothes fell into the abyss of lost hopes. The prince had not thelong purse that she supposed he would have. And yet such was hergood-nature that, when she recovered from the shock, she regarded himjust as kindly and as admiringly as before, and if he had been in thetwinkling of an eye reduced to want she would have been the first torelieve him, and give what aid she could. Nothing could destroy herdeep-rooted and extravagant admiration for the English race.
Her fascinated glance followed him as he got up and sauntered to theopen door.
"You'll stop all night?" she said, hospitably, shuffling after him. "Wehave one good bed, with many feathers."
He did not hear her, for in a state of extreme boredom, and slightabsent-mindedness, he had stepped out under the poplars.
"Better leave 'im alone, I guess," said Claude; then he slipped off hiscoat. "I'll go milk."
"An' I'll make up the bed," said his wife; and taking the hairpins outof the switch that Bidiane had made her attach to her own thick lump ofhair, she laid it on the shelf by the clock, and allowed her own brownwave to stream freely down her back. Then she unfastened her corsets,which she did not dare to take off, as no woman in Bleury who did notwear that article of dress tightly enfolding her chest and waist wasconsidered to have reached the acme of respectability. However, shecould for a time allow them to gape slightly apart, and having by thisproceeding added much to her comfort, she entered one of the small roomsnear by.
Vesper meanwhile walked slowly towards the gate, while Bidiane watchedhim through a loophole in the roof. His body only was in Bleury; hisheart was in Sleeping Water. Step by step he was following Rose abouther daily duties. He knew just at what time of day her slender feetcarried her to the stable, to the duck-yard, to the hen-house. He knewthe exact hour that she entered her kitchen in the morning, and wentfrom it to the pantry. He could see her beautiful face at the coolpantry window, as she stood mixing various dishes, and occasionallyglancing at the passers-by on the road. Sometimes she sang gently toherself, "Rose of the cross, thou mystic flower," or "Dear angel ever atmy side," or some of the Latin hymns to the Virgin.
At this present moment her tasks would all be done. If there were guestswho desired her presence, she might be seated with them in the littleparlor. If there were none, she was probably alone in her room. Of whatwas she thinking? The blood surged to his face, there was a beating inhis ears, and he raised his suffering glance to the sky. "O God! now Iknow why I suffered when my father died. It was to prepare me for this."
Then his mind went back to Rose. Had she succeeded in driving his imagefrom her pure mind and imagination? Alas! he feared not,--he would liketo know. He had heard nothing of her since leaving Sleeping Water.Agapit had written once, but he had not mentioned her.
This inaction was horrible,--this place wearied him insufferably. Heglanced towards his wheel, and a sentence from one of Agapit's bookscame into his mind. It contained the advice of an old monk to apenitent, "My son, when in grievous temptation from trouble of the mind,engage violently in some exercise of the body."
He was a swift rider, and there was no need for him to linger longerhere. These people were painfully subservient. If at any time anythingcame into his mind to be done for the little girl, they would readilyagree to it; that is, if the small tigress concurred; at present therewas nothing to be done for her.
He laid his hand on his bicycle and went towards the house again. Therewas no one to be seen, so he hurried up to the rickety barn where Claudesat on a milking-stool, trying to keep his long legs out of the way of afrisky cow.
The Frenchman was overcome with stolid dismay when Vesper briefly badehim good-by, and going to the barn door, he stared regretfully afterhim.
Mirabelle Marie, in blissful unconsciousness of the sudden departure,went on with her bed-making, but Bidiane, through the crack in the roof,saw him go, and in childish contradiction of spirit shed tears of angerand disappointment at the sight.
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