It was difficult to tear themselves away from the interesting old place, but Jim said they would have to be going in order to get to Digby in proper time.
“This town,” he said, as they entered Bear River, some miles beyond Annapolis Royal, “is celebrated for its Cherry Carnival. In the middle of July, hundreds of tourists and natives come here to feast upon cherries and witness a series of thrilling aquatic events. The Indians from a near-by reservation take part in the birch bark canoe and log rolling contests, and usually carry off many of the prizes.”
“Um!” said Martha. “I’d like to be here then. I just love cherries.”
The car now followed the curving shores of the Annapolis Basin toward Digby. This is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The purplish North Mountain range rises abruptly from the opposite bank of the Annapolis River, and one passes through miles of a picture book world—farms, quaint tiny villages, deep woods, rivers, hills, lovely summer homes guarded by tall fir trees, log cabin colonies, until the long bridge which leads into Digby is reached.
“Out there,” said Jim, pointing across Digby Basin, “is what they call Digby Gut. It was properly named Digby Gap; but, according to the story, the fishermen, after they had completed their catch, always stopped out there to clean the fish, throwing the refuse into the water; and from that comes the inelegant name which the gap now bears. The gap is formed by a mile wide break in the North Mountain range, and through that mountain gate, which the Indians call ‘Tee-wee-den,’ or ‘little hole,’ rush the great floods of the Bay of Fundy, twice every twenty-four hours. They fill the basin, the rivers, and all their tributaries to the very top of the diked embankments for a distance of over forty miles.”
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, while Miss Ashton quoted from Longfellow:
“Oh, faithful, indefatigable tides
That ever more, upon God’s errands go,
Now seaward, hearing tidings of the land,
Now landward, bearing tidings of the sea,
And filling every firth and estuary,
Each arm of the great sea, each little creek,
Each thread and filament of water course,
Full with your ministrations of delight!”
“How perfectly that description suits this part of the country,” said Nancy appreciatively.
They drove up the wooded hill to the big hotel, surrounded by cottages of various sizes. One of these was assigned to Miss Ashton and her party; and they took possession at once, for dinner time was fast approaching.
“What a darling place!” cried Nancy, inspecting the two bedrooms, bath, and living room.