Our Little Quebec Cousin

by Mary S. Saxe

On the rear deck Monsieur Tremblent was standing and his little daughter Oisette Mary was with him. The month was June and the weather was very beautiful indeed.

The little traveler gazed with rapture at the receding shores, bathed in a lovely sunset glow. Everything pleased her; she would like to have opened all the stateroom doors and taken a peep inside, but her father explained to her that this was not allowed, except stateroom number seventeen, for that he had a large key; and presently she could go to bed in the top berth, and watch the panorama of moving shore line from out the port hole. But she wanted to sit up as long as her eyes would stay open and watch the travelers ascend and descend the very grand staircase. Above the mirror, which one always finds on these river boats, just halfway up the staircase, was a full length portrait of Richelieu himself, in his gorgeous robes, and holding a scroll in his hand. Oisette tried hard to remember his name, and wondered if he had been a Pope! She would ask the good sisters at the convent when she had to return to her lessons.

Presently she discovered in the salon, a large glass counter, like in a shop, where all sorts of fancy goods were displayed for sale.

There were Indian baskets, picture post cards, and jewelry and candy. Her father told her she might buy a present to take to his mother who lived in the city of Quebec; she became so absorbed trying to discover what she could find that her grandmère would like that she never missed her father at all, she stood just where he had left her and gazed and gazed; while he was on the lower deck, having bought a cigar he stopped to chat with a commercial traveler from Ontario, who was much interested to hear about the melon farm; and followed Mr. Tremblent back again up the grand staircase, when he went to find his little girl.

Oisette had just decided upon an Indian basket for her grandmother. This basket was woven in green and pink straw and shaped like a melon. "It will hold her knitting," she explained. "And she will think of you when she sees the melon."

This amused the Ontario man, who shook hands with Oisette and asked her to help him pick out something for his little girl. Finally, after much looking, a pair of red slippers with bead work on the toes was purchased. Then the stranger bought a very tiny straw basket, which contained a thimble; the latter just fitted Oisette's finger, and she was made very happy when he told her she was to keep it.

She made one of her deep curtsies, as the nuns had taught her, and said softly, "Merci bien, Monsieur."

That phrase amused the giver so much that he took out his note book and wrote it down, and he asked her to spell it for him, and kept saying it over and over. "I'll tell my little girl," he said, "that these were your very words!"

Oisette showed her father the thimble and whispered to him, "I shall make him a quilt!" Her father laughed and repeated her saying to the stranger, who declared that the very next time he visited Montreal he would drive out to the melon farm and see how the quilt was coming on.

At last Oisette was ready to go to bed. It was quite late now, but Quebec has a long twilight in summertime, and from out the portholes she could see the little villages along the shore.