"Where did you leave your boat?" questioned madame.
"At Father Point light-house with Jean Gourdon. He is to drive up with the pilot to-morrow, and by that time will have skinned the seals."
"Surely the steamer is late this week?"
"Yes, but she will pass Father Point early to-morrow morning; she was telegraphed from Matane, where there has been a dense fog."
"I am glad, Noël, you had such good luck this time."
"Yes, the porpoise will keep us in oil all winter, and as for the seal-skins, I can sell them at Quebec for a good round price. So far so good. But this is the first stroke of luck this year. It has been a poor season. Have you any news, my mother?"
"No, nothing much, my son. There is to be a great pilgrimage to the shrine of the Good St. Anne next week. Hundreds of lame, blind and sick folk are coming from all parts of the country—from Quebec, and even from Gaspé. Oh, my son, it is wonderful what the Good St. Anne does for her children."
"Yes, yes," said Noël, impatiently, "but I want to hear the news of the people here. How is Marie Gourdon?"
"Marie Gourdon? Oh! much as usual—always singing or playing the organ at the church, and M. Bois-le-Duc encourages her. I call it nonsense myself," and the old lady shrugged her shoulders deprecatingly.
"But, my mother, she sings like an angel."