"Wait until our Decembers tweak the top of your imperial nose off," said Eeny, shivering in anticipation. "Won't you wish you were back in England!"
The yellow November sunshine glorified garden, lawn and meadow as Eeny led her sister through the grounds. They explored the long orchard, strolled down the tamarack walk, and wandered round the fish pond. But garden and orchard were all black with the November frost, the trees rattled skeleton arms, and the dead leaves drifted in the melancholy wind. They strayed down the winding drive to the gate, and Kate could see the village of St. Croix along the quarter of a mile of road leading to it, with the sparkling river beyond.
"I should like to see the village," she said, "but perhaps you are tired."
"Not so tired as that. Let us go."
"If I fatigue you to death, tell me so," said Kate. "I am a great pedestrian. I used to walk miles and miles daily at home."
Miss Danton found St. Croix quite a large place, with dozens of straggling streets, narrow wooden sidewalks, queer-looking, Frenchified houses, shops where nothing seemed selling, hotels all still and forlorn, and a church with a tall cross and its doors open. Sabbath stillness lay over all—the streets were deserted, the children seemed too indolent to play, the dogs too lazy to bark. The long, sluggish canal, running like a sleeping serpent round the village, seemed to have more of life than it had.
"What a dull place!" said Kate. "Has everybody gone to sleep? Is it always like this?"
"Mostly," said Eeny. "You should hear Rose abuse it. It is only fit for a lot of Rip Van Winkles, or the Seven Sleepers, she says. All the life there is, is around the station when the train comes and goes."
The sisters wandered along the canal until the village was left behind, and they were in some desolate fields, sodden from the recent rains. A black marsh spread beyond, and a great gloomy building reared itself against the blue Canadian sky on the other side.
"What old bastille is that?" asked Kate.