As long as they could remember, the roaring flow and rippling ebb of the great tides had been the most conspicuous and companionable sounds in the ears of Will and Ted Carter. The deep, red channel of the creek that swept past their house to meet the Tantramar, a half mile further on, was marked on the old maps, dating from the days of Acadian occupation, by the name of the Petit Canard. But to the boys, as to all the villagers of quiet Frosty Hollow, it was known as "the Crick."
To "the Crick" the Carters owed their little farm. Mrs. Carter was a sea captain's widow, living with her two boys, Will and Ted, in a small yellow cottage on the crest of a green hill by the water. Behind the cottage, framing the barn and the garden and the orchard, and cutting off the north wind, was a thick grove of half-grown fir trees. From the water, however, these were scarcely visible, and the yellow house twinkled against the broad blue of the sky like the golden eye of a great forget-me-not.
I have said that the Carters owed their little farm to the creek. That is to say, their farm was made up chiefly of marsh, or diked meadow, which had been slowly deposited by the waters of the creek at high tide, then captured and broken into the service of man by the aid of long, imprisoned ramparts of sodded clay. This marsh land was inexhaustibly fertile, deep with grass, purple in patches with vetch blossoms, pink and crimson, along the ditches with beds of wild roses. Outside the dikes the tawny current of the creek clamored almost ceaselessly, quiet only for a little while at high water. When the tide was low, or nearly so, the creek was a shining, slippery, red gash, twisting hither and thither through stretches of red-brown, sun-cracked flats, whitened here and there with deposited salt. Where the creek joined the Tantramar, its parent stream, the abyss of coppery and gleaming ooze revealed at ebb tide made a picture never to be forgotten; for the tidal Tantramar does not conform to conventional ideas of what a river should be.
Had the creek been their only creditor the Carters would have been fortunate. As it was, the little farm was mortgaged up to its full value. When Captain Carter died of yellow fever on the voyage home from Brazil, he left the family little besides the farm. To be sure, there was a share in the ship, besides; but this Mrs. Carter made haste to sell, though shipping was at the time away down, and she realized almost nothing from the sale. Had she held on to the property a year longer she would have found herself almost comfortable, for there came a sudden activity in the carrying trade, and shipowners made their fortunes rapidly. But Mrs. Carter cared little for business considerations where a sentiment was concerned; and being descended from one of the oldest and most distinguished families of the country, she had a lofty confidence that the country owed her a living, and would be at pains to meet the obligation. In this confidence she was sadly disappointed; and so it came about that, while Will and Ted were yet but small lads, the farm was mortgaged to Mr. Israel Hand, who greatly desired to add it to his own adjoining property.
It happened one summer afternoon, when Will was nearly eighteen years of age, and Ted fifteen, that the boys were raking hay in the meadow, while Mr. Israel Hand was toiling up the long hill that led from Frosty Hollow to the yellow cottage. The figure of Mr. Hand was hidden from the boys' view by the dense foliage of the maples and birch trees bordering the road. Toward the top of the hill, however, the line of trees was broken; and in the gap towered a superb elm. Immediately beneath the elm, half inclosed in a luxuriant thicket of cinnamon, rose, and clematis, stood an inviting rustic seat which commanded a view of the marshes, and the windings of the Tantramar, and the far-off waters of the bay, and the historic heights of ramparted Beauséjour.
Toward the seat beneath the elm tree Ted kept casting eager but furtive glances. This presently attracted Will's attention.
"What have you, young one, been up to now?" he queried, in a tone half amused and half rebuking.
Ted's eyes sparkled mischievously.
"O, nothing much!" said he, bending his curly head over the remains of a bird's egg, which he suddenly discovered in the grass. But his denial was not intended to deny so much as to provoke further inquiry. He was a persistent, and sometimes troublesome practical joker; but he usually wanted Will to know of his pranks beforehand, that Will's steady good sense might keep him from anything too extravagant in the way of trickery.
"O, come off now, Ted," exclaimed Will, grinning. "Tell me what it is, or I'll go and find out, and spoil the fun."