All night long Desiré dreamed of papering the old Godet house, inside and out, with mysterious figures and letters, which fell off as fast as she pasted them onto it.
The sun was shining brightly as they drove down the hillside at Bear River the second morning after, and into the ravine where dyked lands border the river. Hundreds of cherry trees loaded with brilliant fruit were on every side, and on the water was clustered the craft of those who were to take part in the sports later in the day.
“What funny river banks,” commented Priscilla.
“The ground is below the level of the river,” explained Jack; “and the banks have to be built up of interlaced tree trunks filled in with clay to keep the water from running over the land. They are called dykes.”
“Indians!” cried René, full of excitement, pointing to a group nearby.
Already great numbers of them had come from a neighboring reservation for the games. Under the heavily loaded trees, people from far and wide wandered about, tasting first one variety of fruit and then another. Groups of tourists watched from the roadside, or took part in the feasting.
Jack found a safe place for the wagon, and, after locking it, took his little family to obtain their share of the cherries which are free to all on that particular day in mid-July each year. Shortly before noon, they carried their lunch to a shady slope from which they had a good view of the place where the sports were to be held. By two o’clock, the fun was in full swing. All kinds of races, on both land and water; throwing contests; log rolling tests; and games of skill or endurance. Anyone could take part, and Desiré urged Jack to enter some of them; but he preferred to remain a spectator. He loved all kinds of sports, and was perfectly fearless; but the chance of possible injury now, when he was the head of the family, kept him from taking part. The Indians were the most clever participants, and frequently won, much to René’s delight.
“The youngster sure likes the Indians,” observed a man who sat next to Jack. “Used to be scared of ’em when I was a kid. You ought to take him to the St. Anne’s celebration some time.”
“What’s that?” inquired Jack.
“Every year the Indians make a pilgrimage to the Island of the Holy Family, round the 21st of July, and live up there in birch bark tepees until after the feast, on the 26th.”