“What is here?” She put out her small moccasined toe toward a rather stiff-looking plot of green plants.
“Oh, that is Mère Lunde’s garden of herbs. All manner of things for potage, and the making of sundry remedies in which she has great faith. She will look after that.”
“And must I look after mine?”
“I will come and help you.”
“Oh, then, I will have a garden!” she cried joyfully.
[CHAPTER IV—THE SOWING OF A THORN]
It was only a short distance to the priest’s house, where the classes met. She ran off by herself. There was quite a throng of girls, though, as with most of the early Western settlers, education was not esteemed the one thing needful for girls. To make good wives was the greatest attainment they could achieve. Still, Father Lemoine labored with perseverance at the tillage of their brains on the two afternoons, and the tillage of their souls on Saturday.
After the two hours were over the restless children had a run up to the Fort. The Guions there were Madame Renaud’s relatives. There was a great thicket of roses that covered the line of palings, and some ladies were having refreshments under a sort of arbor, little cakes and glasses of wine much diluted with water.
“Oh, yes, come in,” exclaimed Sophie as Renée hung back. “You have been here before, you needn’t feel strange.”
That was true enough. Then she had been Sophie’s guest. Now she had a curious hesitation.