“Yes, I believe you are right,” said Mr. Morris, reluctantly replacing the articles, “but it's deuced hard upon the children.”
“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” said the nun, in a sweet tone of voice, and added, “I assure you madam, I never missed a sale of our little wares with so much satisfaction.”
The visiters then took leave of the amiable sister, and in the course of the evening embarked on board the steam-boat. When they arose in the morning, they had already reached the mouth of the Sorrel. It was one of the most beautiful of all the bright days of summer. A gentle west wind tempered the sun's heat, and if, as saith the good book, ‘a cheerful countenance betokeneth the heart in prosperity,’ it might be inferred from the happy faces of our friends, that their minds were as bright and clear as the cloudless sky. Even Mrs. Barton had lost her downcast despondent look, and the pleasant light of gratitude and hope was diffused over her honest countenance. Edward and Julia were unusually animated, and their mother observed their joyous step as they bounded over the decks, their sparkling glances, and their gleeful chatterings which fell like music on her ear: she traced their uncommon spirits to the little struggle and victory of the preceding day, and rightly, for it is active goodness that commands the secret spring of joy—virtue that opens all the sweet fountains of happiness within us.
It was late in the afternoon when the level and uniform shores of the river, studded with an unbroken line of white-washed houses, or only broken where they clustered around a catholic church, as children gather under the wing of a parent, began to assume more picturesque forms. Bold promontories stretched into the river, and beautiful hills presented their verdant and graceful slopes to the clear mirror. There was a band of musicians on board the boat, who at the command of the captain, (who understood the laws of international courtesy,) had been playing yankee doodle. Edward was far enough from home to feel grateful for this tribute from the English captain, and when the music suddenly changed, at a signal from him, to a mournful requiem, Edward inquired with a look of disappointment, the cause of the transition.
“Look there,” he replied, “my young friend, at that pretty grassy point. It is called Cape Laboniére; just above the point you see a thicket of tall trees, which extend their shadows now beyond the church. Under those trees were buried three beautiful girls, the daughters of the honourable Mrs. Laboniére. The young ladies were called by the villagers, ‘Les sœurs de la charité;’ and are now, I am told, reckoned as their guardian saints by these poor catholic peasants. I happened to be there when the last was buried. You know the catholics have great pomp and expense at their funerals; but I believe the childless parents had no heart for this, for though the father is seignior of the place, and a man of great wealth, he granted the request of the poor villagers who went in a body to him, to beg permission to bury their beloved benefactress. I saw the procession—every one in it was a mourner. The girls strewed the grave with white roses, and all, even the old men and the little children, shed tears on the turf that covered it; and I could not but think how much better than their consecrated water were these tears of gratitude. We call the place the ‘Three sisters,’ now,” concluded the captain, “and I never pass it without some tribute of respect.”
Before nine o'clock the steamboat was gliding along under the heights of Quebec. Having, as Mr. Morris (who kept strict note of time) remarked, achieved a sail of 180 miles in 18 hours. Edward stood on the deck beside his mother, straining his eyes to the proud summit of Cape Diamond, where the British flag waved in a flood of moonlight. “Oh, mother,” he exclaimed, “what a kind friend the moon has been to us.”
“She has indeed,” replied Mrs. Sackville; “and I am very glad that you notice and enjoy her favors; her pale crescent was reflected in the waters of Ontario—her beams revealed to us some of the secret places of the ‘thousand isles’—the glittering spires of Montreal sent back her silver rays, and now she pours a flood of light from her full orb, upon these fortified heights. But, come, dear Ned, I believe it is time for us to leave the moon, and attend to our sublunary concerns. Your uncle has gone to settle our bill, and you had best attend to yours.” Julia poured the contents of her purse into Edward's, and he left them, and returned in a few moments holding a single shilling between his fingers; “here is all we have left,” he said; “what is to be done now, mother? I cannot bear to turn poor Mrs. Barton adrift the moment we arrive.”
“No, dear Ned,” replied his mother; “she shall be cared for still further. I had too much respect for good examples,” she continued, smiling, “to spend all my money for fancy articles, and I shall take Mrs. Barton to the City Hotel with us, till she can make some provisions for herself. I confess I have not much expectation that the governor will think proper to do any thing for her, but your father has letters to him, and he will call at the Chateau to-morrow, and say and do what he can in her behalf.” Mrs. Barton received this additional kindness with unfeigned gratitude; “But after to-morrow, ma'am,” she said, “I will trouble you no further, for I am sure to find some acquaintance here, who will help me to shift for myself.”
The next morning passports were procured to visit the fortifications. Edward, who had a great regard to our own heroes and patriots, had previously sallied forth in quest of the spot where the gallant Montgomery fell in our cause; and his father, after awaiting his return for some time, proceeded without him, leaving a note of directions how he should follow him.