“White caps,” observed Desiré. “Fundy must be rough today.”
“Those are gulls,” corrected Jack, “at least so the Indians used to believe. The Spirit of the Sea was so fond of the birds that he caught a lot one day and, with a long string, tied their legs together. He keeps them down in his house under the water, and at times he lets the gulls come up to swim on the top of the water for air and exercise.”
“Why don’t they fly away then? I would!” asserted René, big-eyed with interest.
“Because the Spirit holds fast to the string, and when he thinks they’ve been out long enough, he pulls them all down under the water again.”
Between Saulnierville and Little Brook they made several stops and substantial sales. The picnic dinner which good Mrs. Riboux had insisted upon packing for them, they ate beside a shady stream in which many little fish darted about among the weeds. René insisted upon trying to catch some with his hands, but succeeded only in getting his clothing so splashed that Desiré had to stand him out in the sun to dry before they could continue on their way.
“There’s Church Point,” cried Desiré, later in the afternoon, pointing to the skyline ahead, where a tall spire topped with a cross rose proudly against the blue.
“How happy the sailors must be when they first catch sight of that point,” mused Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla.
“Because the spire can be seen for many miles out at sea, and the sailors use it as a guide.”
The shadows were getting long, and the air was much cooler by the time they drove into the little town. On St. Mary’s Bay several fishing boats had already been anchored near the sands, and farther out on the gilded water others were heading for the shore. Over the slight rise near the church they drove, and in and out among the ox teams and lines of slow-moving cows.