At the hotel Mrs. Redmond spoke to Martine more seriously about the danger in expeditions by herself. "I had no idea that you thought of doing anything beyond wheeling around the town," she said; "and if you had met any real mishap, it would have been very hard for Amy and me, in whose care your father and mother put you."
So Martine promised that in the future she would be less thoughtless. "Although to be honest," she added, "my thoughts are so apt to come afterwards that it is almost dangerous to promise anything."
That evening, in the little hotel parlor, when Martine narrated her adventure, an old gentleman who was a permanent boarder there told her many anecdotes of the Micmacs.
"In the early days, as you know, they were very friendly to the French. They were early baptized and became Roman Catholics, and as they began to be civilized, they liked to be known by French names, and many married with the French. The Canadian Government is very good to them, and provides for them on reservations or encourages them to own land for themselves. The children all go to school, some in reservation schools, and some attend the ordinary day schools with white children. While some of them still prefer to live by hunting, fishing, and Indian handicrafts, others work in mills and on railroads; and, on the whole, they compare well with the lower class of white citizens, for they are citizens with certain voting rights."
"I thought they'd be more picturesque and like real savages," said Martine. "I was so disappointed. There's something attractive in the name 'Micmac,' and I supposed that at least they'd live in wigwams."
"Considering the way in which you rushed in among them," interposed Mrs. Redmond, "I should think you would be glad that you met only tame Indians to-day."
"Very tame," rejoined Martine. "Only a tall, thin Indian woman in a purple calico gown."
"There are certainly not many of the original red men left in Nova Scotia," said Mr. Dolph, the gentleman who had been talking to them. "There are some collections of their legends that are interesting to read, and the names of many Nova Scotia places are of Indian origin."
"Oh, yes," said Amy; "I came across some lines to-day that I copied," and she began to recite:
"'The memory of the Red Man, How can it pass away? While their names of music linger, On each mount and stream and bay? While Musquodoboit's waters Roll sparkling to the main, While falls the laughing sunbeam On Chegoggin's fields of grain?'"