When he had dressed the wound anew, and administered a soothing draught, Marc fell into a quiet sleep.
"He will do well, but it is a matter for long patience," said the Curé.
Then we went out of the house and down to the garden corner by the thicket of beans, where we might talk freely and jar no slumberers. Father Fafard fell in with my plans most heartily, and accepted my charges. To hold the Black Abbé in check at any point, would, he felt, be counted unto him for righteousness.
My mind being thus set at ease, I resolved to start as soon as might be after daybreak.
Before it was yet full day, I was again astir, and goodwife Giraud was getting ready, in bags, our provision of bacon and black bread. I had many small things to do,—gathering ammunition for two muskets and four pistols, selecting my paddles with care from Giraud's stock, and loading the canoe to the utmost advantage for ease of running and economy of space. Then, as I went in to the goodwife's breakfast, I was met at the door by a slim youth in leathern coat and leggins, with two pistols and Marc's whinger. I recognized the carven hilt stuck bravely in his belt, and Marc's knitted cap of gray wool on his head, well pulled down. The boy blushed, but met my eye with a sweet firmness, and I bowed with great courtesy. Even in this attire I thought she could not look aught but womanly—for it was Mistress Mizpah. Yet I could not but confess that to the stranger she would appear but as a singularly handsome stripling. The glory of her hair was hidden within her cap.
"These are the times," said I, seriously, "that breed brave women."
Breakfast done, messages and orders repeated, and farewells all spoken, the sun was perhaps an hour high when we paddled away from the little landing under Giraud's garden fence. I waved my cap backwards to Prudence and the Curé, where they stood side by side at the landing. My comrade in the bow waved her hand once, then fell to paddling diligently. I was still in a maze of wonderment, ready at any time to wake and find it a dream. But the little seas that slapped us as we cleared the river mouth, these were plainly real. I headed for the eastern point of the island, intending to land at the mouth of the Piziquid and make some inquiries. The morning air was like wine in my veins. There was a gay dancing of ripples over toward Blomidon, and the sky was a clear blue. A dash of cool drops wet me. It was no dream.
And so in a strange fellowship I set out to find the child.