In front of the post office stood the very man who had given them the information concerning the Indians’ pilgrimage, on the preceding day; and, pulling up, Jack told him in a few words what had happened.
“Now that’s too bad,” replied the man with genuine concern, resting one foot on the wheel hub; “if I was you—”
“Is it far to the Island of the Holy Family?” interrupted Desiré.
“Oh, yes; and come to think on’t, I don’t suppose that band was goin’ there anyhow; they’d not get there in time. They’re probably on their way back to the reservation.”
“Then where could we look for them?” questioned Jack, his heart sinking at the destruction of their hopes.
“If I was you, I’d keep right along this road toward Annapolis Royal, and perhaps you’ll catch up with them. They don’t travel fast, and you could ask in every town if they’d been through. There’s no real cause for you to worry, friends, for the little chap will be well treated. The Indians like little folks.”
Jack looked at Desiré.
“It’s good advice, don’t you think?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” he replied doubtfully, turning the team around, and thanking the man for his help.
“Good luck to you,” he called, as they started off; and Priscilla, leaning out of the back of the wagon, waved a goodbye.