The next morning, with a big basket of lunch in the back of the wagon, they all drove down to the hut, René wild with excitement. An hour’s drive brought them to the bleak, deserted coast. Nothing but sand, jagged rocks, coarse grass, and scattered huts met their eyes. They left the team just off the road beside a clump of juniper, and crossed the sand to the hut. When Simon unlocked the door, the interior seemed to be a jumble of lumber.
“Get all these pots out in a jiffy,” he said, picking up a couple of crate-like objects and depositing them outside.
They all helped, and soon the pots were piled up beside the hut.
The rooms were tiny, only two in number, a bedroom and a general room; and the furniture was scanty.
“You can’t possibly live here, Dissy,” whispered Jack.
“Go on and learn how to catch the beasts, and I’ll attend to the house,” she replied with forced cheeriness.
So Mrs. Chaisson and Desiré cleaned and set in perfect order the tiny wooden building, while Simon taught Jack how to make and repair lobster pots. They look like oblong crates, and are made of narrow strips of wood bent into a semi-circle and nailed onto a board. A couple of holes are left for the lobsters to crawl in, and the whole is lined with coarse net, and weighted with heavy stones.
At noon they spread the lunch on a huge flat boulder on the beach.
“Lots nicer than an old table,” René pronounced it.
“You’ll have no trouble in roughing it as far as he’s concerned,” laughed Mrs. Chaisson.