“Come soon,” said Madame Renaud. “We are all such old friends. And Barbe will have so much to tell. And bring ma’m’selle: she can’t have forgotten. Oh, Barbe, she is a young lady now!” laughing cheerily.
Then they moved on, while his eyes followed them.
Already men were repairing the levee, or, rather, building it anew under Colonel Chouteau’s direction. Some other overflow in time would sweep this away, but this was the best of their knowledge then. And the unfortunate captain had his story to tell. He had saved his papers and bills of lading, and could tell upon whom the losses would fall. There were some shipments for Denys, but he was glad no lives had been lost. André was describing their share of the rescue in brief terms. So it was late when M. Denys returned.
“We waited and waited for you!” cried Renée. “And the breakfast was so good—the corn cakes Mère Lunde makes that melt in your mouth.”
And truly even those wilderness women, with no culinary magazines or housekeeping hints, concocted very savory dishes. Their grater was of the rudest kind. A strip of tin through which a sharpened bit of iron was driven to make holes, the rough side put upward as it was fastened to a piece of board. On this they grated green corn all the summer and autumn. During the winter they boiled it on the ear until it was soft, then prepared it the same way. The cakes were mixed with eggs and flour and baked on a hot flat stone in the heat of the coals. A syrup made of maple sugar would be poured over them.
“Yes, I am very sorry—and hungry,” laughing. “There was so much to talk about.”
“And was any one lost? Where did they find the boats?” Renée was all eagerness.
“There were only two. The rest were swept away. They took shelter in Pirate Creek, but the pirates have been cleaned out. It might have been worse. The losses can be recouped. Ah, you should have seen the joy of Christophe Baugenon over his sweetheart! Madame Galette, and Madame Gardepier with her little girl.”
“She is quite old now,” said Renée, with the assurance of youth that is its own hasty judge.
“Oh, no! Five or six and twenty. And her little girl is about three, a pretty child. Madame Renaud was wild with delight, as who would not be. And she begs that we will come soon.”