“The Spaniards have been very good to us. But we all hope to go back again some day. Renée, will you not stay and play with the children? There is Sophie, about your age or a little older, and Elise——”
“No,” she returned with a long breath; “I want Uncle Gaspard.”
“Adopted already? Well, you will bring her in to dinner?” with a cordial intonation.
“If not, to supper.”
“You will tire her to death dragging her around.”
“Oh, heaven forefend,” in mock fear.
He paused a moment or two and glanced at Renée, half questioningly, but she still clung to him.
They took their way along the street, but from every corner they had a glimpse of the river, now flowing lazily along. The French seemed to have a fancy for building their towns on the margin of a river. Partly, perhaps, from fear of the Indians, but quite as much from innate sociability, as they preferred compactness, and did not branch out into farms until later on. But many of these squares had not more than three or four houses; some, indeed, only one, the rest devoted to a garden.
Here was the market, but there were not many customers this morning, though the stands were attractively arranged. And beyond was the old Laclede mansion. He it was who had laid out the town and named its streets. On the main street was his large store, but it was then the end of Rue Royale. He had welcomed the emigration from Fort Chartres when the English had taken possession, and set a band of workmen building log houses for them. His own house was quite roomy and imposing.
Then they went down to the levee, which presented a busy and picturesque sight. Boats were being unloaded of bales of furs and articles of merchandise. Indians with blankets around them or with really gay trappings; coureur de bois; Frenchmen, both jolly and stern, chaffering, buying, sending piles of skins away on barrows, paying for them in various kinds of wares, arms, ammunition, beads and trinkets, though these were mostly taken by the squaws.