He stared, but gave me the name of his mill. It belonged to one of the wealthiest lumber kings of the district. I resolved to go down the next day.
“What is your name,” I asked. The man hesitated a minute before he replied,
“Netty.”
“Netty!” I repeated “What a curious name! You have another name, I expect. That must only be a nickname.”
“Mais oui Monsieur. My name is much longaire than dat. My whole name is Etienne Guy Chèzy D'Alencourt, but no man call me dat, specially in de mill. 'Netty'—dey all know 'Netty.'”
It was a long name, truly, and a high-sounding one,—but I preferred thinking of him by it than by the meaningless soubriquet of “Netty.” At the next corner he got out, touching his cap to me quite politely as he passed.
I was in high spirits that evening, for I believed I had found my habitant. I went down to the Chaudière the following day, and got permission to go over Mr. ——'s mill I found it very interesting, but my mind was not sufficiently centered on planks and logs and booms to adequately appreciate them. I wanted “Netty.” After I had made the complete round of the mill I came upon him hard at work in his place turning off planks in unfailing order as they whizzed along. The noise was deafening, of bolts and bars, and saws and chains, with the roar of the great cascade outside. He saw me and recognized me on my approach, but he could not speak for some time. It was most monotonous work, I thought. No conversation allowed, not even possible; the truly demoniacal noise, yet just outside on the other side of a small window, the open country, the mighty waters of the ever-boiling “Kettle,” or Chauldron, and the steep spray-washed cliff. Standing on my toes I could, looking out of Netty's small window, discover all this. The ice was still in the river, half the fall itself was frozen stiff, and reared in gabled arches to the sky. I watched the two scenes alternately until at 6 o'clock the wheels ran down, the belts slackened and the men knocked off.
Netty walked out with me at my request, and learning that he had to return in an hour I proposed we should have a meal together somewhere and a talk at the same time. He must have been greatly astonished at a complete stranger in another walk of life fastening upon him in this manner, but he gave no hint of either surprise or fear, and maintained the same mild demeanour I had noticed in him the day before.
It was darkening rapidly and I did not know where to go for a meal. Netty told me he ought to go to St. Patrick St. I knew the locality and did not think it necessary to go all that way, “unless anybody will be waiting for you, expecting you.”
“Oh! not dat I live in a boarding house, my mother—she in the countree, far from here.”