The land was icebound, the cold intense, but the weather brilliant. Down the great St. Lawrence they went; across country, as only men born in the land and knowing every inch of the ground they traversed could have done. Home, home, was the watchword, before which every hardship seemed of no account.
“Father Nat! mother! here they are coming up the hill!” and Susie dashed into the kitchen.
No need to say who were coming.
“Oh, my lads, my lads!” cried Father Nat, and bareheaded as he was, he strode out through the garden into the high road, and stood with his arms stretched out to welcome the children home.
From far and near, from villages and lonely farmhouses, in sleighs, on foot, by land in the most primitive conveyances, skating along the icebound lakes and rivers, the people came flocking to Marshwood to celebrate Roger the Ranger’s and Loïs Langlade’s wedding-day.
Never in the memory of man had such a Christmas Eve been witnessed. Brightly the sun shone on the glistening snow, as the bride in her sleigh, decorated with holly and evergreens, with white bearskins wrapping her round, was driven by Father Nat himself down to the village church, amid the shouts and joy-wishes of the crowd lining the hill-side and the long village street. Roger’s Rangers had mustered in full force to do their Captain honour, and very gay they looked in their red shirts and tan gaiters as they filed into the church after the bridal party.
There were few dry eyes in that assembly as the old minister rose to address them, and in simple, strong words reminded them of the dark days and the sorrows through which they had all passed. He spoke of the noble examples which had been set to them by men such as Wolfe and Howe, and others whose nameless graves were not without due honour. “And surely,” he added in conclusion, “we New Englanders are more than ever bound to bring up our children in the true faith, free men, lovers of that liberty for which so many have bled, remembering always that the lives of great men are landmarks, pointing those that come after to like deeds of high honour, not of idle acquiescence in the past, but to be up and doing, regenerating the earth by love, peace, and goodwill, even as the Christ, whose birthday we shall celebrate to-morrow, brought peace and goodwill to man.”
The merry-making lasted a whole week, and many of those who had come from afar lingered still longer. Amongst the number were William Parkmann and his young wife, and with them they had brought a sister of the former, Elizabeth Parkmann, who took so kindly to the homely life of the Marshes, and more especially to the master of Alpha Marsh, that Father Nat, radiant with joy, said to John Cleveland, as they sat together in the chimney corner, “We shall see Marcus in the pulpit yet, and Charles and Roger reigning in my stead.”