"No, my dear Amy, I do not, because I know no one to visit; but I'm tired of cloth skirts and a shirt-waist, and I thought I would like to see how it would feel to wear something decent."
Martine's gown was a pale blue voile, made up over a bright blue lining, with a delicate white insertion on the waist; her hat, a blue chip, trimmed with white flowers, and she carried a parasol to match.
"Is your gown quite suitable for a walk on a dusty road?"
"Perhaps it isn't," responded Martine, "but sometimes one must live up to her feelings, and this is how I feel to-day,—like wearing my very best; besides, this is nothing remarkable, this dress, but it happens to be the best I have with me."
"Very well," and Amy sighed; "it's no use to argue with you, and as soon as Priscilla comes downstairs we'll set off."
When Priscilla appeared, she, like Amy, had a short cloth skirt and shirt-waist, but she made no comment on the elegance of Martine's appearance.
There was one thing rather incongruous in Martine's aspect,—she carried a small shovel, which looked as if it had never been used; such, indeed, was the case, and as she brandished it she said cheerfully, "I hope we shall go somewhere where we can dig. I hear there's any amount of hidden treasure around Annapolis, and I am anxious to get some of it for myself."
The girls walked a good while before they saw anything likely to reward an amateur antiquarian. Then, in a field quite outside the town, Martine's sharp eyes saw something that interested her. In a moment she was over the fence, with the others following.
"There," she said excitedly, "you see these very old, gnarled apple-trees and this clump of willows; I'm perfectly sure that this used to be an Acadian farm."
"That's a safe guess," rejoined Amy, "for all the land about here was once in the hands of the Acadians."