Some time during the night he saw a dim outline in front of him, and the horses stopped. With an unspoken prayer of gratitude, he dropped down from the seat, stiffly walked a few steps to the house, and knocked.
CHAPTER XXIII
SHELTER
After an interval, a light appeared; the door opened a crack, and a gruff voice demanded what was wanted. Jack, in a few words, explained his presence and the man immediately threw wide the door, bidding him enter and make himself at home.
“But my team—” began Jack.
The man cut him short. “I’ll look after it. Go in and go to bed. The missus will show you where.”
A big dim room, with one flickering lamp; a woman wrapped in a shawl, standing in a doorway opening into another room; several figures, each rolled in a blanket and lying near the fireplace—such a sight greeted Jack as he entered.
“Here’s a blanket,” said the woman. “You can lie wherever you like in this room.”
She disappeared at once, and the boy spread the blanket on the floor a little beyond the other dark, motionless figures. He rolled himself in the blanket, and, using the mail bag for a pillow, tried to sleep. Being exhausted, in spite of the hard bed he dropped off almost as soon as the man came in from caring for the team.
In the morning he felt stiff and sore, and his head ached, due to sleeping on the floor, he supposed. His host and hostess greeted him as casually as if he had been dropping in there every night, and offered him breakfast.
“My name’s De Vigne,” said the man, as they sat down to the table.
The three dark figures of last night still lay rolled up beside the hearth, and Jack kept looking at them as he gave his host a brief account of his adventures. Finally, curiosity getting the better of him, he ventured, “Those fellows sick?”
“Yes,” answered De Vigne, glancing carelessly at them. “Flu, I guess. One of them is our hired man. The other fellows dropped in here last night a few hours ahead of you.”
Jack was a brave boy, with no foolish dread of illness; but the flu! The disease which had deprived them of their father, of that he was afraid; not so much on his own account, but because of Desiré. Poor girl, she must be half frantic by now. If he’d only had some way of getting word to her. He must lose no time in starting out again.
Mr. De Vigne gave him the necessary directions for getting back on his route again, and an hour later he was delivering the letters which had taken him to that lonely section. Then he headed for home.
The sun came out and the snowy fields became dazzling. If only his head wouldn’t ache so hard, and his stomach feel so queer. Probably when he got some of Desiré’s good cooking, he’d be all right. Yesterday he hadn’t eaten much, and he had been able to swallow very little of the breakfast provided this morning by the De Vignes. Encouraging himself in every way he could, he managed to drive all the way back; and in the middle of the afternoon, put the team in its place. As he was leaving the barn, he met the judge who had hurried out as soon as he caught sight of the open door.
“By Jove, boy!” he began; then stopped. “You’re sick! Come right in and go to bed. We’ll take care of you.”
“Desiré,” faltered Jack, swaying a little in the judge’s grasp.
“I’ll get her—Jonas! Come here and help me!”
With the aid of the hired man, the judge soon had Jack in bed in the room next to his own, and had sent for the doctor. Madam Lovemore was rushing around, heating bottles, and preparing broth. The trusty Ford never made such good time as it did going down to the cabin and back. The snow flew in all directions as the judge forced the machine through it. Desiré, worn and terrified by her night of fruitless watching, almost fainted when the judge appeared and told her his story. Jack’s needs, however, forced her to make a desperate effort to be calm. In a very short time the judge deposited her and the two children on his own doorstep.
“We’ve plenty of room,” he decreed, “and you must all stay here until the boy’s well.”
“He’s asleep now, my dear,” was Madam Lovemore’s greeting as she kissed Desiré in the hall. “The doctor’s been here; and while he’s not positive, yet he thinks it’s just a heavy cold.”
All the hours of waiting, the anxiety, the shock, resulted in one wild burst of tears when Desiré peered in at Jack, sleeping heavily, his face red, his lips drawn in tense lines. Madam Lovemore led her hastily into a room on the opposite side of the hall, and closed the door. Sitting down in a big rocker, she drew the girl into her lap as if she had been René, and let her cry.
“I’m—sorry—” gasped Desiré presently.
“It’s only natural, you poor little girl. Have your cry out, and you’ll feel lots better. Then we’ll make some plans.”
Jack slept most of the day, waking once to smile feebly at Desiré who was bending over him. She could not trust herself to speak, and only kissed him tenderly.
Under the care of good Dr. Caronne, and with the help of the delicious, nourishing foods prepared by Madam Lovemore, and the combined nursing of the entire household, Jack escaped the flu. After a couple of days he was able to get up, and a week later the Wistmores returned to their own home; and Jack went back to work.
“We can never, never hope to repay what they have done for us,” said Jack gravely, when they were talking of the kindness of their host and hostess that night. “You children must remember that, and do everything you can for them, every little thing.”
“I will,” announced René solemnly. “I’m goin’ to marry Mad’m Lovemore when I grow up.”
“I’m sure,” said Jack, “that would be a wonderful way to repay her.”
During the rest of the winter Jack used snowshoes for delivering the mail, and Desiré was so fascinated by them that she learned to use her brother’s when he did not need them. One day when he came from Windsor he brought her a pair, and suggested that whenever he went on short trips, she accompany him. She was delighted, and quite often after that she left René at the judge’s, and went skimming over the snow with her beloved brother, dearer now than ever after the fear of losing him.
“It’s so mild out that I shouldn’t be surprised if we had rain,” announced Jack, when he came in from his day’s work one night late in the winter.
“Rain!” exclaimed Priscilla. “Why, it’s still winter.”
However, Jack proved to be a good weather prophet; for when they woke up the following morning, rain was falling steadily, and the snow looked soft and dirty. That was the beginning of the break-up of winter. Each day the sun rose higher and its rays became warmer; and each day more of the snow melted, softening the ground and filling streams, large and small, to the very brim.
The winds were softer and warmer; the birds returned and began looking for home sites; and the air was alive with their calls. From the new green of the marshes came the continuous croaking of frogs. Then the first wild flowers slipped quietly into bloom; the fruit trees pushed out bud after bud until they were covered with fragrant blossoms. Nova Scotia had come to active life again after the hard winter.
The day Priscilla brought in a cluster of arbutus, there was a general rejoicing. The delicate pink blossom is greatly prized by the people of Nova Scotia, and has been made the national flower.
“The darlings!” cried Desiré, holding the tiny flowers close to her nose in order to inhale their dainty fragrance.
“Up in the woods of Prince Edward Island the Indians will be very busy now that the Mayflower—for that is the other name for arbutus—has come,” observed Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla, putting her bouquet carefully in water.
“As soon as the flowers appear, the young Indian braves search carefully for the finest specimens they can find to throw at the woman they want to marry. It is one of their regular customs; so you can imagine how excited the maidens are at this time of the year.”
“What a pretty custom,” said Desiré; but the practical, unromantic Priscilla thought it very
funny, and so expressed herself as she placed the vase in the center of the table.
“And where are the Indians?” demanded René.
“Nowhere near here; so don’t go looking for them,” ordered his brother.
René looked very serious for a moment, and said that he wouldn’t. Apparently he had some none too pleasant recollections of one escapade in following Indians.
The apple orchards around Wolfville had begun to drop their sweet pink and white petals, and the countryside was streaked here and everywhere with the deep blue of the iris, the fleur-de-lys of France, when Jack commented to Desiré one night that they’d better take old Simon’s wagon back to him.
She laughed. “You did say we this time. When do you want to start?”
“Could you manage it by Monday?”
“This is Friday. Why, yes, I could. What will you do about your job while you’re gone?”
“It goes back to its regular owner,” replied Jack, trying to speak lightly; adding, as Desiré looked puzzled, “The old man can manage well enough in pleasant weather. I was only a helper for the winter months, you know. When we come back for the summer, if we decide to stay here, I’ll have to look for something else. I can probably get something either here or at Windsor. We’ll talk it over on the road.”
“Shall we take the children, or leave them with Madam Lovemore? When I mentioned one day our having to go to Yarmouth, she offered to keep them if we wished.”
“It would seem too much like imposing,” objected Jack; “she has been so very kind to us.”
“Yes,” admitted Desiré; “and yet I know she’s very willing.”
“One thing,” said Jack thoughtfully, “I hate to have Priscilla miss so many days of school, and she would have to if we took her. How would it do if we left her and took René? Do you think that would be a good idea?”
“Yes; I think that would be fine, and it would even things up better. Prissy can be quite a help to Madam Lovemore, while René always bears watching. I suppose Prissy won’t like being left behind, though.”
“Probably not; and it will seem queer to leave her. It will be the first time we’ve been separated since—”
“Yes,” said Desiré hurriedly, as Jack’s voice faltered; “but we know that she will be well cared for; and after we’re once gone, she’ll soon get used to the new conditions.”
So it was settled, and although at first Priscilla was inclined to feel injured, by the time Monday came she was quite resigned.
“I’ll have lots of automobile rides, I suppose,” they overheard her saying importantly to René.
“And I’ll see old Simon again!” boasted the small boy; “and go on a big boat—and—and—everything,” determined not to be outdone.
The older ones smiled as they went about closing up the cabin. They walked as far as the judge’s; and although there was no one to see her, Priscilla felt very important carrying the suitcase which held her wardrobe. There was no chance for prolonged farewells; for when they reached their destination it was so nearly time for school that Priscilla could give them only a hasty hug and kiss apiece, before dashing down a side road toward the schoolhouse.
CHAPTER XXIV
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—”
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