Among the English officers encamped at Beauséjour was the slim young lieutenant who had led the band of avengers at Kenneticook. He spoke French; he was interested in the Acadian people; and he moved about among them inquiring into their minds and troubles. The cabin under the willows, almost the only house left standing in Beauséjour village, at once attracted him, and he sauntered down the hill to visit it.
The household was in a bustle getting things once more to rights; and a group of children played chattering about the low, red, ocher-washed door. As the lieutenant approached, Lecorbeau came forth to meet and greet him. The Englishman was just on the point of grasping the Acadian's outstretched hand, when a shrill cry of "Uncle Willie" rang in his ears, and he found one of the children clinging to him rapturously. For an instant he was utterly bewildered, gazing down on the sunburned fair little face upturned to his. Then he snatched the child to his heart, exclaiming passionately, "My Edie, my darling!" To Lecorbeau, and to his wife and Pierre, who now appeared, the scene was clear in an instant; and a weight of misery rolled down upon the heart of Pierre as he realized that now he should lose the little one he loved so well.
For a few moments the child and her new-found uncle were entirely absorbed in each other. But presently the little one looked around and pointed to Pierre.
"Here's my Pierre!" she explained in her quaint French--"and there's papa Lecorbeau, and mamma Lecorbeau, and there's little Jacques, and Bibi, and Vergie, and Tiste. Won't you come and live with us, too?"
Her uncle covered her face anew with his kisses. "My darling," he said, "you will come with me to Halifax, to mamma!"
"And leave Pierre?" she cried, her eyes filling. "I can't leave my Pierre, who saved me from the cruel Indians."
This recalled the young man's thoughts to the mystery of the little one's presence at Beauséjour. Lecorbeau gave him a bench, and sitting down beside him told the story, while Edie sat with one hand in her uncle's clasp and the other in that of Pierre. The young Englishman was deeply moved. Having heard all, and questioned of the matter minutely, he rose and shook Pierre by the hand, thanking him in few words, indeed, but in a voice that spoke his emotion. Then he poured out his gratitude to Lecorbeau and his wife for their goodness, to this child of their foes; and little by little he gathered the Acadian's feelings toward the English, and the part he had played throughout. At length he said:
"Can you allow me to quarter myself here for the present? I cannot take Edie into the camp, and she would not be willing if I could. I see from her love for you how truly kind she has found you. I want to be with the little one as much as possible; and, moreover, my presence here may prove of use to you in the near future."
The significance of these last words Lecorbeau did not care to question, but after a glance at his wife, who looked dumfounded at the proposition, he said:
"You may well realize, monsieur, that with this small cabin and this large family we can give you but poor accommodation. But such as it is, you are more than welcome to it. Your coming will be to us an honor and a pleasure, and a most valued protection."