"Why, yes, in a general way," responded Mr. Knight, with an amused smile. "As to details, why, I am not quite so sure, though I can assure you I have no intention of questioning Mr. Longfellow's accuracy. Far from it. His picture of the deportation is wonderfully complete."
"Yet you were criticising him."
"Oh, no, only the tendency of some tourists to connect everything in the neighborhood of Grand Pré with something mentioned by Longfellow."
"But if it makes the place more interesting," began Martine.
"Oh, certainly, that is one of the uses of poetry, and really, Miss Stratford, I intended no criticism of 'Evangeline,' only—" and again that smile of amusement—"you will pardon me when I say that these are not Evangeline's willows, as some call them, except in the poetic sense."
"They are very picturesque," said Amy, in an effort to turn the conversation. "Until I came to Nova Scotia I had never thought of willows as so strong and sturdy. In fact, I had in mind only the weeping variety."
The line of willows, a dozen or so beside the rail fence, with two or three cows grazing in their shade, formed a picture so tempting that Priscilla turned her camera upon it, and with a wave of her hand pointed to something beyond. In a minute or two Mrs. Redmond and Amy were beside her, with Mr. Knight and Martine but a step behind.
"Shall you object if we call this Evangeline's well?" asked Martine, with a touch of scorn in her voice.
"Ah, call it what you please, Miss Stratford. It is certainly an old French well. Evangeline may have drunk from it."
"Is it quite safe to drink from an old well?"