“So he tells me, but Mère Michelle says that it is possible that my father may have become an engagé; that thought is to me more terrible than the other, for if he is with the good God he is at peace, but otherwise he is suffering misery at the hands of masters. And oh, Gerard, you have told me how you saw those miserable ones tied two and two, walking in procession like criminals, or wretchedly bound in a cart. Ah, me, to be sold into slavery, yes, that is worse than death for a Huguenot. We saw at Martinique many of those unfortunates, and the thought that my father may be one such as those is too dreadful to endure. No, I myself am readier to believe that he is somewhere in hiding, and that he will yet discover us. So many escaped to Holland who eventually have reached England, and our friends of the church in London are aware of our arrival here, therefore I take the hope to my heart that my father and I may yet meet. Meanwhile, I am willing to work hard in gratitude to those dear parents of our adoption.”
“And I, too, Alaine. We must do our share for their sakes, for they have spared no pains to help us. Papa Louis has never been strong since that dreadful fever on the island, and besides, a man who has spent his days poring over books, what is he to till the ground or to work at the looms?”
“You grow so tall and strong, Gerard, I think you look a man already. I, too, grow strong and hardy in this good salt air. I trust I may grow in grace likewise,” she added, piously. “I cared not once much about that, Gerard, but these sore trials have sobered me.” Then her fresh young voice took up the psalm,—
“Sus, sus, mon ame, il te faut dire bien
De l’Eternal: ô mon vrai Dieu, combien
Ta grandeur est excellent et notoire!”
Gerard joined in, and hand in hand they continued their way through the woods and up the path to their home, Papa Louis and Michelle following, the latter still garlanded.
Gerard and Alaine fled laughing to the little loft chamber, and presently down came a lad in a blouse too small for the expanding figure, and following, a girl in very short petticoat and coarse chemise.
“La, la!” cried Michelle. “Here they are, the bad ones. Look, papa, did you ever know such mischiefs? They have grown, in truth, these two years. Such short petticoats, Gerard, and your blouse, Alaine, is far too small; you can scarce meet it. Another year and you cannot wear the garments, my children. Put them away and keep them as a reminder that the grace of God has lent you the name of Mercier.”
A knock at the door silenced their laughter. Alaine shrank behind Michelle’s broad back, and Gerard, looking rather foolish in his short petticoat, retreated into a corner. Papa Louis opened the door to welcome a neighbor, M. Therolde. Behind him came the stranger whom Alaine had met at the fête. “A little frolic to end the day’s entertainment,” said Papa Louis. “My children are attired for our amusement. You will excuse their costumes, gentlemen. Come forward, Gerard; your petticoats are none too short that they need stand in the way of a greeting to our friends. And you, my daughter, need not mind masquerading in your brother’s clothes upon a fête-day.”