“Fort Chartres helped it along. I was but a boy when we came over. My mother is buried there, and it almost broke my father’s heart to leave her.”
“Those hated English!” said Renaud, almost under his breath. “The colonies have revolted, it is said. I should be glad to see them driven out of the country.”
“Yes, I heard the talk at Quebec and more of it as I came down the lakes. But the country is so big, why cannot each take a piece in content? Do you ever think we may be driven out to the wilderness?”
“And find the true road to India?” with a short laugh. “Strange stories are told by some of the hunters of inaccessible mountains. And what is beyond no one knows,” shrugging his shoulders.
No one knew whether the gold-fields of La Salle’s wild dreams lay in that direction or not. There were vague speculations. Parties had started and never returned. The hardy pioneers turned their steps northward for furs. And many who heard these wild dreams in their youth, half a century later crossed the well-nigh inaccessible mountains and found the gold. And before the century was much older ships were on their way to the East of dream and fable.
Barbe and Madame Renaud were out on the porch in the moonlight, and it was very bright now. Denys would not stay, and soon said good-night to them, going back to his work by a pine torch.
Renée counted the days, and every one seemed longer. But at last the joyful news came.
“We shall run over often,” declared Sophie, who had a fondness for the little girl in spite of childish tiffs.
Renée was busy enough placing her little store of articles about, discovering new treasures, running to and fro, and visiting Mère Lunde, who had a word of welcome every time she came near.
“It will be a different house, petite,” she said, with her kindly smile.