"Well, I am sure—" and Mr. Knight hesitated, "I am sorry—but there isn't so very much—you know all the Acadian houses were burnt, and it's just a modern village—the old Covenanter Church is perhaps the oldest thing—and you've seen the old well and the willows and the things that we point out to Americans."
"There it is!" thought Martine, "that same patronizing tone when he speaks of Americans."
"Oh, there is one thing," continued the unhappy young man, conscious now, as at all times, of Martine's disapproval, "I should have shown you the little ridge near the station where Colonel Noble and one of his soldiers were buried, after that terrible fight in 1747. You remember the French had only seven killed to the one hundred English who were slaughtered."
"That was a cowardly attack," said Amy, warmly.
"But it was the real French, and not the Acadians, who were responsible," interposed Martine.
"Yet the Acadians helped—at least as guides."
"This pleasant country has certainly witnessed a great deal of tragedy." Mrs. Redmond's voice was that of the peacemaker.
"Yet through it all Blomidon has remained there calm and placid." Up to this time Priscilla had had little to say.
"But Glooscap, the deity of the Micmacs," responded Mrs. Redmond,—"you remember that after the white men came to Minas, displeased with their teachings, he fled away, and has never been seen since.
"'You can see yourself Five Islands Glooscap flung at him that day, When from Blomidon to Sharp he tore the Beaver's dam away. Cleared the channel, and the waters thundered out into the Bay. Here he left us—see the orchards, red and gold in every tree! All the land from Gaspereau to Portapique and Cheverie, All the garden lands of Minas and a passage out to sea.'"