[“Oh, it’s he!” cried Priscilla.]

FINDING THE
LOST TREASURE

By HELEN M. PERSONS

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK

Copyright MCMXXXIII
By The Saalfield Publishing Company
Printed in U.S.A.

CONTENTS

[I A Mysterious Paper] 5 [II Desiré’s Inspirations] 11 [III Two Callers] 17 [IV Out to Sea] 28 [V A Midnight Walk] 39 [VI The Pie Social] 50 [VII A Fright] 60 [VIII A Fight] 66 [IX In Camp] 72 [X A Night Prowler] 82 [XI The Blue-covered Book] 87 [XII A Search for René] 102 [XIII Indians and Strawberries] 107 [XIV Two Mishaps] 119 [XV The Old Godet House] 129 [XVI A New Friend] 140 [XVII An Old Enemy] 147 [XVIII A Collision] 152 [XIX Poor Dolly!] 157 [XX Good Samaritans] 168 [XXI A Surprise] 181 [XXII Caught by Storm] 192 [XXIII Shelter] 195 [XXIV Back to Yarmouth] 205 [XXV Lobster Pots] 215 [XXVI Hands Off!] 222 [XXVII Jack’s Jobs] 225 [XXVIII A Find] 235 [XXIX W-17⁵⁵—15x12—6754] 245

FINDING THE LOST TREASURE

CHAPTER I
A MYSTERIOUS PAPER

“W-17⁵⁵-15x12-6754,” read Desiré slowly. “What does it mean?”

“What does what mean, Dissy?” asked her younger sister, who was rolling a ball across the floor to little René.

“Just some figures on an old paper I found, dear. I must tell Jack about them. Do you know where he is?”

“Out there somewhere, I guess,” replied the child, with a vague gesture indicating the front yard.

Desiré flung back her short dark curls and crossed the room to a window where sturdy geraniums raised their scarlet clusters to the very top of the panes. It was the custom in that part of Nova Scotia to make a regular screen of blossoming plants in all front windows, sometimes even in those of the cellar. Peering between two thick stems, she could see her older brother sitting on the doorstep, gazing out across St. Mary’s Bay which lay like a blue, blue flag along the shore.

Crossing the narrow hall and opening the outside door, Desiré dropped down beside the boy and thrust a time-yellowed slip of paper into his hands.

“Did you ever see this?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly. “A few days before he died, nôtre père went over the contents of his tin box with me to make sure that I understood all about the bills, and the mortgage on the farm and—”

“Mortgage!” exclaimed Desiré in shocked tones. “I never knew we had one.”

“I, either, until that day. You see nôtre mère was sick so long that all our little savings were used up, and ready money was an absolute necessity.”

“And what did he tell you about this?” continued the girl, after a thoughtful pause, running her finger along the line of tantalizing characters.

“Nothing very definite. He said it was a memorandum of some kind that had been handed down in our family for generations. The name of its writer, and its meaning, have been lost in the past; but each father passed it on to his eldest son, with a warning to preserve it most carefully, for it was valuable.”

“And now it belongs to you,” concluded Desiré, half sadly, half proudly.

Jack nodded, and for several moments neither spoke.

John Wistmore, aged 18, Desiré, 14, Priscilla, 9, and René, 5, were direct descendants of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins, whose story the poet Longfellow tells in The Courtship of Miles Standish.

The little town of Sissiboo, an Indian corruption of Six Hiboux[1] where they lived, is one of those settled by the Acadians upon their return to the land of their birth some years after the expulsion. So closely, so ramblingly are the villages strung along the shores of St. Mary’s Bay on the northwest coast of Nova Scotia that it is hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. Their inhabitants live exactly as did their ancestors, speaking French and preserving with care all the old habits and customs.

[1]SIX OWLS.

The lives of the children had been simple, happy ones, until the recent death of their father and mother, hardly three months apart. John Wistmore, in whose veins flowed the blood of men of culture and ambition, had been anxious to give his children greater educational advantages than Sissiboo afforded. Jack, therefore, had been sent to Wolfville to school, and was now ready for college; while Desiré was looking forward to high school in the autumn. Now all was changed. Without relatives, without money, and without prospects, they faced the problem of supporting the two younger children and themselves.

“Where did you find this?” asked Jack, rousing himself.

“On the floor in front of the cupboard.”

“It must have slipped from the box when I took out the mortgage. I went over it with Nicolas Bouchard this morning.”

“Oh, does he hold it?”

“Yes—and—”

“He wants his money?”

Jack nodded.

“But what can we do? We can’t possibly pay him.”

“Nothing, I guess, dear, except let him foreclose.”

“Would we get any money at all, then?”

“Very little. Not enough to live on, certainly.”

“I wish I knew what these mean,” she sighed wistfully, touching the paper still between her brother’s fingers. “If we could only find out, maybe we’d get enough money to pay Nicolas.”

Jack laughed in spite of his anxiety. “I’m afraid we’d all starve before they could be interpreted. Too bad, as things have gone, that I didn’t farm as soon as I was old enough—”

“Don’t say that! We’ll hope and plan for your college course—”

“Desiré, dear,” protested her brother, gently but firmly, “it is absolutely out of the question, even to think of such a thing.”

“But, Jack, every one should have some special goal in life, as an incentive if nothing else; and I’m not going to give up planning for our education. One never knows when good fortune is waiting just around the next corner to complete one’s own efforts.”

“I guess our goal will be to provide food and clothing for the children. I’m afraid it will be a hard pull for you and me to keep the family together—”

“Oh, but we must stay together, Jack,” she cried, grasping his arm.

“As far as I can see,” he continued slowly, “the only thing to be done is to move to Halifax or Yarmouth, where I could get work of some kind. Should you mind very much?”

“Whatever you decide, I’ll be willing to do,” replied the girl bravely.

“If it will make you any happier,” continued Jack, giving her one of his grave, sweet smiles, “we’ll place higher education among our day dreams.”

“If you folks ain’t hungry, we are!” announced Priscilla, opening the door behind them so suddenly that both jumped.

“You see?” laughed Jack, as he pulled Desiré up from the low step.

“I’ve just had a wonderful inspiration though,” she whispered as they entered the hall.

CHAPTER II
DESIRÉ’S INSPIRATIONS

It was a quaint old room in which they settled down after supper had been eaten and the children put to bed. The woodwork was painted a deep blue, known as Acadian blue, and the floor was bare except for a couple of oval braided rugs in which the same color predominated. In the center of the room stood a hutch table, one that can be changed to a chest by reversing its hinged top. Around it were half a dozen high-backed chairs, their seats made of strips of deerskin woven in and out like the paper mats made in kindergartens. A spinning wheel stood beside the fireplace, before which sat Jack and Desiré, with no other light except that of the dancing flames.

“Now Dissy,” said the boy, laying his hand affectionately over hers, “let’s have the inspiration.”

“It’s this: that we stay on here as tenants. Nicolas can’t live in this house and his own too!”

“But one trouble with that plan is that Nicolas wants to sell the property and get his money out.”

“Who’d buy it? Nobody ever moves into or out of this town.”

“He has a customer now. André Comeau’s prospective father-in-law wants to move here after the wedding. He can’t bear to have Marie live so far away from him. Sorry to spoil your inspiration, dear.”

Desiré made no reply; for she was very close to tears, and she hated to act like a baby instead of the good pal her brother had always called her.

“We’re going to work on André’s house again tomorrow,” observed Jack presently. “The roof’s on, the floors laid, and by Saturday we should be able to start the barn.”

In New Acadia all the relatives, friends, and neighbors of a man who is about to be married join in building a new house for him. They clear a piece of land, haul materials, and labor for weeks on the construction of house, barn, and sheds. When these are finished, the garden is prepared, the fields ploughed and planted, and the buildings furnished. The bride-to-be contributes linens, and her people stock the farm with animals. Some morning the whole countryside walks to church to see the couple wedded, returning to the home of the bride’s mother, where the day is spent in feasting and merry-making. If the groom can afford it, he then takes his bride to Yarmouth to spend a few days at the Grand Hotel. That is the greatest ambition of every rustic pair.

Jack talked on quietly about the house raising until he saw that his sister had recovered her composure. She was smiling bravely as he kissed her goodnight, but her sleep was broken by feverish dreams of the worn slip of paper, and a long journey.

When Jack returned at dusk the following evening, after a long day’s work on André’s house, he found Desiré waiting for him with sparkling eyes, flushed face, and such an air of repressed excitement that he wondered what had happened while he had been away.

It was necessary to wait until the children had gone to bed before he could question her. They had decided it was best to leave the younger ones out of discussions of ways and means. “Let them be carefree as long as they can,” Desiré had urged, and Jack had agreed.

“Who do you suppose was here today?” she asked, perching on the arm of his chair as soon as they were alone.

“Never could guess,” he replied, slipping his arm around her.

“Old Simon.”

“Starting his spring trip early, isn’t he?”

“Rather. I made him stay to dinner, and we talked and talked.”

Simon drove one of the big covered wagons which are common in Nova Scotia. They have double doors at the back, and are filled with all kinds of groceries and notions, a regular general store on wheels. Many parts of the country are so thinly settled that it would be impossible for people to obtain certain supplies without the existence of these interesting wagons. Some of them specialize in certain things, like ready-to-wear clothing, but most of them carry a little of everything.

“Did he have anything interesting to tell?”

The proprietors of these odd stores act as relayers of bits of news, as well as merchandise, and often bear messages from one part of the peninsula to the other.

“Why—why—I don’t—really know,” faltered Desiré.

“Don’t know?” repeated her brother, turning to look at her in surprise; for although she dearly loved her home, she was always eager for contacts with the outside world.

“Well, you see, we talked business all the time.”

“Business?” he queried, more and more puzzled.

“Yes. Oh, Jack, let us get a wagon!”

“Desiré, you must be crazy!” he exclaimed, startled out of his usual calm of manner and speech.

“No, I’m not really. Just listen a minute,” telling off the points on her fingers. “We’d be all together. We’d be earning an honest living, and having a lot of fun, and seeing places; and it’s healthful to be out-of-doors, a lot; and—” she paused for breath.

“But, Dissy,” protested her brother gently, “we couldn’t live in the wagon.”

“Oh, yes, we could.”

“All of us? Day and night?” asked the boy, troubled at this odd notion that had evidently so strongly taken possession of his hitherto sensible sister.

“We could have a little tent for you and René at night. Prissy and I could easily sleep in the wagon. It would be no different from camping, Jack; and lots of people do that.”

“What about winter?”

“Well, of course we couldn’t live that way after it gets real cold, but winter’s a long way off. Maybe we’d make enough by then to rent a couple of rooms in some central place and take just day trips. Or perhaps we’ll find out what that paper means, and have—who knows what?”

Jack shook his head.

“Seriously, Desiré, I don’t see how we can make a living from a traveling store. Simon does, of course; but there is only one of him, and four of us.”

“But,” resumed the girl, after a short pause, “we have no place to go if Nicolas forecloses; we don’t know how else to support ourselves; so wouldn’t traveling around the country all summer give us a chance to see all kinds of places and people? Mightn’t we get in touch with possibilities for the future? Our living expenses would be small; for we could gather wild things to eat—”

“A few bears, or owls, I suppose,” laughed her brother.

“No, silly! Berries, and—and grapes, and things.”

“Heavy diet.”

“And fish,” concluded Desiré triumphantly.

“Another thing,” continued Jack, resuming his gravity, “you wouldn’t want to spoil old Simon’s route by taking some of his customers.”

“Of course not, but there certainly must be sections where there is no traveling store. We could take one of those.”

Just then a heavy knock on the front door startled them both.

CHAPTER III
TWO CALLERS

When Jack opened the door, Nicolas Bouchard stood frowning before him.

“Oh, come in, Nicolas,” he urged hospitably.

“Can’t; it’s too late; but saw you were still up, and wanted to tell you that I just had a message from Yves and he wants to take possession of this place at once. Think you could be out by this day week?”

“How do you know we aren’t going to pay off the mortgage?” flashed Desiré, annoyed at the man for taking things so for granted.

Nicolas gave a grunt. “What with? Don’t get mad. We all know you haven’t got any money. Glad to have you pay if you could, for you’ve always been good neighbors; but a man’s got to take care of his pennies. They’re not so plentiful now as they were when I took that mortgage.”

“Certainly, Nicolas,” said Jack, quietly laying a restraining hand on Desiré’s arm. “You may have the house a week from today.”

The man lingered rather awkwardly.

“Felice said she’d be willing to keep the two little ones, so as you and this girl could go to Boston, and find work—”

Desiré started to speak, but Jack’s hold on her arm tightened.

“They pay good wages there, I’m told,” the man went on. “Or, if you could find some place for the rest, Yves said he’d be glad to have you stay on here and help him farm.”

“We are indeed grateful for the kindness of our friends,” replied Jack; “but we have decided that we must all stick together, some way.”

Nicolas turned without another word, and strode down the shell-bordered path to the road, and Jack closed the door. In silent dismay the brother and sister faced each other; then the girl’s courage reasserted itself.

“Never mind, dear,” she cried, putting both arms around him. “We’ll surely find something. As nôtre mère used to say so often, ‘let’s sleep on it.’ Things always look lots brighter in the morning.”

“You’re such a good little pal, Dissy. We’ll say an extra prayer tonight for help, and tomorrow we’ll try to decide upon something definite.”

Late the following afternoon Desiré stood on the doorstep, watching Priscilla hopping down the dusty road to see a little friend. Early that morning Jack had gone to Meteghan to settle up affairs with Nicolas and Yves, and, to please Desiré, to price an outfit for a traveling store. The sisters, greatly hindered by René, had spent the day going over keepsakes and household belongings of all kinds, trying to decide what they would keep and what they must dispose of.

“Are you going to sell all our things, Dissy? Even Mother’s chair?”

“I’m afraid so, dear. You see we can’t carry furniture around with us when we don’t know where or how we are going to live. You have her little silver locket for a keepsake, and I have her prayerbook. We really don’t need anything to remember her by.”

“No; and Jack has nôtre père’s watch. But, oh, I—I wish we weren’t going. I’m sort of afraid!”

“Afraid!” chided Desiré, although her own heart was filled with the nameless dread which often accompanies a contemplated change. “With dear old Jack to take care of us? I’m ashamed of you! We’re going to have just lots of good times together. Try not to let Jack know that you mind. Remember, Prissy, it’s far harder on him to be obliged to give up all his own plans and hopes to take care of us, than it is for you and me to make some little sacrifices and pretend we like them.”

“Ye-es,” agreed Priscilla slowly, trying to measure up to what was expected of her.

“What’s the matter with Prissy?” demanded René, deserting his play and coming to stand in front of them. “Has she got a pain?”

“A kind of one,” replied Desiré gently, “but it’s getting better now; so go on with what you were doing, darling.”

The child returned to the corner of the room where he had been making a wagon from spools and a pasteboard box, while Priscilla murmured, “I’ll try not to fuss about things.”

“That’s a brave girl,” commended her sister. “Now, you’ve been in all day; so suppose you run down to see Felice for a little while. Maybe you’ll meet Jack on the way home, but don’t wait for him later than half past five.”

The little girl was almost out of sight when Desiré’s attention was diverted to the opposite direction by the sound of an automobile, apparently coming from Digby. Motor cars were still sufficiently new in Nova Scotia to excuse her waiting to see it pass. Only the well-to-do people owned them, and she had never even had a ride in one. There were rumors that possibly that very summer a bus line would be run to the various interesting parts of the country for the convenience of tourists from the States. Then she might be able to ride a little way, if it didn’t cost too much, just to see how it felt.

A ramshackle Ford jerked to a sudden halt right in front of the house, and a tall, thin man backed carefully out from the driver’s seat and ambled up the path toward her.

“Mademoiselle Wistmore?” he inquired, bashfully removing his blue woolen cap and thrusting it under his arm.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“My name’s Pierre Boisdeau,” he drawled, taking the cap out from under his arm and rolling it nervously between his two big hands.

“Yes?” replied Desiré encouragingly.

“I have a message for you,” pushing the long-suffering cap into his pocket as he spoke.

The girl seated herself upon the broad stone step, and with a gesture invited the stranger to do the same; but he merely placed one foot upon the scraper beside the step, and began in halting embarrassed fashion to deliver his message.

After he had gone, Desiré fairly raced through preparations for supper; then went to look up the road again. If Jack would only come! René trudged around from the back of the house where he had been playing, and announced that he was hungry; so she took him in, gave him his supper, and put him to bed. Before she had finished, Priscilla returned.

“Jack must have been delayed somewhere. We might as well eat, and I’ll get his supper when he comes,” decided the older girl.

While they ate, Priscilla chattered on and on about her playmates, while Desiré said “Yes” and “No” rather absent-mindedly. Where could Jack be?

“I’m going to bed,” yawned Priscilla, about seven o’clock. “We ran so much, I’m tired.”

“All right, dear.”

“Where are you going?” inquired the child, stopping on the stairs as she caught sight of her sister throwing a shawl around her shoulders.

“Only out to the road to watch for Jack.”

“You won’t go any farther, and leave us?”

“Of course not. Have I ever left you alone at night?”

“No-o-o.”

“Run along to bed then,” reaching up to pat the brown hand which grasped the stair railing.

What was keeping Jack?

For half an hour Desiré shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching the darkening road. As soon as she spied his tall form, she ran to meet him and fell into step at his side.

“You must be nearly starved, dear,” she began.

“Not a bit. I happened to be at Henry Simard’s at about supper time, and nothing would do but I must stay and eat with them. I hope you weren’t worried,” looking down at Desiré anxiously.

“I tried not to be; for I thought perhaps you had gone farther than you intended.”

“Nicolas was ready when I got to his house, and Yves met us in Meteghan; so we fixed everything up successfully. The money which came to us I put into the bank for emergencies; for—I’m awfully sorry to have to tell you—there isn’t enough to buy and stock up a wagon, even if we decided to adopt that way of living. So I looked around a bit for some kind of a job.”

“Did you find anything?” asked Desiré, a bit breathlessly.

“Not yet; but I shall. We could—”

“Now that I’ve heard your news,” interrupted the girl eagerly, “just listen to mine. A man named Pierre Boisdeau came in an auto from Digby this afternoon with a message for us. Oh, Jack, the most wonderful thing! When he took some salmon down to Yarmouth the other day, they told him at the docks that old Simon had sent word to be sure to have anyone from up this way go to see him. So he went, and found the poor old man all crippled up with rheumatism. He will have to stay at his daughter’s house all summer. So he won’t be able to peddle. And Jack! He wants us to take his wagon! Isn’t that just glorious? He said that if we won’t take it and keep the route for him until he is well again, he’ll likely have to sell out. He doesn’t want to do that. Isn’t it just providential? This will give us a chance to try the experiment without much expense, and will provide for us for several months.”

“We are indeed very fortunate,” replied Jack gravely. “We could hardly take such an offer from anyone else, but Simon is such an old friend that he would feel hurt if we refused. As you say, it will give us a chance to find a place to settle in permanently. In the meantime, we shall be holding the route for him.”

They entered the house and dropped down beside the table, still covered with dishes, to finish their talk.

“Simon wants an answer as soon as possible; for he hates to think of all his customers being deserted for so long. You’d better write to him tonight.”

“I wonder,” said Jack slowly, after a few minutes’ consideration during which his sister scanned his serious, thoughtful face rather anxiously. “I wonder if it would be better for me to go down alone to get the wagon and pick you up on the way back; or, for all of us to ride to Yarmouth on the train, and start the route from there. Which should you like better?”

“To go to Yarmouth, of course; but won’t it cost a lot more?”

“Some, but—”

“I can prepare enough food for us to carry two meals, and there must be some place where we could camp just outside of the city.”

“Anxious to get started?”

“Yes. I hate goodbyes. I’d like to steal out right away, without anybody knowing it.”

“I’m afraid you can’t leave our good neighbors like that. They have known us all our lives; and think how hurt they would feel.”

“I suppose so; but they all want us to do something different, and criticize nôtre père for trying to educate us.”

“They don’t understand, but they mean well and have been very kind to us.”

“I know, and I do appreciate it; but—couldn’t we start soon?”

“Day after tomorrow, I should think. I’m afraid one trunk and the box in the store room will be all we can take on our travels. Shall you be able to manage that way?”

“I’ll try to; but what shall I do with the furniture?”

“Give it away, or leave it for Yves. We’ll just have to stifle all sentimental affection for our household gods.”

“We’ll have a house of our own again some day, and get new household gods.”

* * * * * * * *

Intense excitement prevailed in the Clare District on Wednesday afternoon. Little groups of women and children were hurrying along the dusty road. On every doorstep a man or woman too old, or a child too young, to join the procession was sitting waiting to wave farewell to the travelers when they passed. These good people were much disturbed at the departure of the little Wistmore family. It was almost unheard of for any of the Acadian families voluntarily to leave that peaceful section and wander among strangers in unfamiliar parts of the country. Occasionally, within their knowledge, an individual or two had decided to seek his fortune elsewhere; but never before a whole family, and the Wistmores at that! The neighbors had done their best, one and all, to dissuade the children from following such a course; but since their words of advice and warning had proved of no avail, they were now on their way, bearing little gifts of good will, to bid the adventurers Godspeed.

When Jack drove up with André Comeau who was going to take them to the station, three miles away, the yard was filled with little groups of neighbors; and inside the house still others were saying their reluctant farewells. Shaking the hands held out to him on every side, Jack gently pushed through the crowd; and, with André’s help, loaded their one trunk and box onto the wagon. Then he detached Desiré and the children from the weeping women, and helped them up to the seats which had been made of rough planks laid across the wagon box. The crowd drew back, and amid a chorus of “Bon jour!” “Au revoir!” the travelers started on their journey.

Desiré and Priscilla, with tears rolling down their faces, waved as long as they could see their old friends, and answered salutations from many a doorstep; but Jack, with set face, did not look back at all. Even René was unusually quiet, hardly knowing what to make of it all. The train pulled into the tiny station just as they reached the platform, and there was no time to be lost. Before the children, to whom a railroad was a novelty, had time hardly to glance at the long train, its freight cars placed ahead of the coaches, as is common in Nova Scotia, they were hustled on board, the bell rang, and they were off.

CHAPTER IV
OUT TO SEA

The little party was very quiet during the ride, which took two hours. The older members were occupied with their own thoughts, very serious ones, and the young pair engrossed in looking out of the window.

Rolling rocky land; woods where sombre and stately pines and firs made a fitting background for the graceful slender white trunks of the birch trees; miles of ferns close to the tracks; tiny stations; glimpses, between the trees, of rustic dwellings and a few more pretentious summer homes; flashes of wild flowers; rivers, down whose red mud banks still trickled threads of water, although the tide was out; grey farm buildings; all flowed rapidly past. Then—Yarmouth!

“Stay right here,” directed Jack, after they had alighted from the train, leading the way to a pile of crates on the platform, “until I check our baggage. I thought we’d keep only the night bag, and pick up the rest after we get the wagon.”

Before the children had tired of watching the passers-by, he was back again, and they walked slowly toward the centre of the city, not pausing until they reached the tiny park facing the wharf.

“You and the children had better sit here while I go to find out the location of the street where Simon’s daughter lives.”

“Is that the Grand Hotel, where André brought Marie after the wedding?” asked Priscilla, looking up in admiration at the big building across the street.

“Yes,” replied Jack.

“Just think!” cried the child ecstatically, giving a little skip, “I’m really looking at the place I’ve heard of so many times.”

“Well, your education has begun,” said Jack. “See that you make the most of all your opportunities.”

“What a very funny place,” observed Priscilla, looking around her.

“It is a park—” began Desiré.

“But look at those,” interrupted the younger girl, pointing to several graves.

“It must have been used as a cemetery first,” replied her sister, walking over to read the inscription on a nearby stone, and closely followed by Priscilla. That moment or two gave René the chance for which he had longed, and he was off down the road and onto the wharf. Desiré turned to look for him just in time to see a little blue-clad figure dart across the gang plank of the Boston steamer.

“René!” she called in desperation, racing toward the dock.

The tug which helped the steamer pull away from her slip was already out in the harbor; bells were ringing, the whistle was blowing, dock hands were running about. Across the gang plank ran Desiré and Priscilla just before it was withdrawn, and the ropes were cast off. As they looked helplessly among the crowds of people and piles of luggage for the truant, the tug was steadily pulling on the long tow line, and heading the steamer out to sea.

“My—little—brother,” gasped Desiré to an officer.

“What about him?” demanded the busy man curtly.

His brisk manner was just enough, in her distressed state of mind, to reduce the girl immediately to tears.

“He got away from us and is on this boat. That’s what’s about him,” said Priscilla, coming at once to her sister’s aid. “Don’t mind, Dissy; we’ll find him.”

An interested spectator of the scene, a tall, energetic type of woman, now joined the group.

“Let me help you look for him, my dear,” she said briskly, putting a hand on Desiré’s shoulder. “No need to worry; he’s certainly safe.”

“But,” choked the girl, now fully conscious that the boat was moving, “we can’t go on. My big brother is waiting for us in Yarmouth! What—what will he think? What will he do?” She wrung her hands distractedly.

“You could go back on the tug, if the boy’s found before she leaves us,” suggested the officer, coming to the rescue as soon as he fully understood the situation.

“There he is!” shrieked Priscilla, darting to the side of the boat where René was climbing up on a suitcase to look over the railing at the water. Grasping him firmly by the tail of his jacket, she dragged him backward across the salon, and brought him to a violent sitting posture at Desiré’s feet.

Meanwhile the officer had ordered the tug to be signalled, and she now came alongside. No time for anything but hurried thanks to their benefactors as the girls and René were helped over the side and onto the tug. Noisily, fussily, she steamed away from the big boat, over whose rails hung the interested passengers, and headed to Yarmouth.

“What ever made you do such a naughty thing, René?” asked Desiré, who had recovered her outward composure.

“Wanted to see big boat,” replied the child, not at all impressed by the gravity of his offense. Useless to say more now.

“The young feller needs a good whaling,” growled the pilot of the tug, as he brought his boat alongside the wharf.

“There’s Jack!” cried Desiré, in great relief, catching sight of him striding rapidly along the street above the docks. “Jump out, quickly, Prissy! Run up and tell him we’re all right.”

The child sprang to the dock and ran up the incline at top speed, while Desiré lingered to thank the pilot.

“Glad to do it, ma’moiselle. Better keep hold of him hereafter, though.”

“I shall,” she promised, with a reproachful look at René.

The reunited family met in the little park, and sat down on one of the benches to readjust themselves.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” said Desiré, putting her hand in Jack’s. “You must have been frantic.”

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I came back and found that you had all disappeared. An old dock hand who saw me looking around said he’d seen a boy, followed by two girls, go aboard the ‘Yarmouth.’ So, knowing René, I came to a close solution of the mystery. I was just going up to the steamship office to see what could be done when Prissy grabbed me from behind.

“René,” he went on, placing the child directly in front of him so he could look into his eyes, “you have been a very bad boy; and only the fact that we are out here in a public place prevents me from putting you right across my knee, and giving you something to make you remember your naughtiness. There is to be no more running away. Do you understand me?”

The little boy, wiggling slightly as if he already felt the punishment, nodded gravely, impressed by his brother’s stern face and voice.

“What did you find out, Jack?” asked Desiré, when he had released René.

“They told me,” he began, turning toward her, “that Simon lives on a street not so very far from here. I thought if you’re ready, we might walk down there; and perhaps he’d be able to tell us where we could spend the night.”

“Aren’t we going to the hotel?” inquired Priscilla, her face clouding.

“No; we haven’t enough money to stay there,” answered Jack, starting ahead with René.

The little girl pouted, and shed a few quiet tears to which Desiré wisely paid no attention. Slowly they strolled along the main street, pausing to look in the window of a stationer’s where the books and English magazines attracted Desiré’s eye; stopping to gaze admiringly at the jewelry, china, pictures, and souvenirs attractively displayed in another shop.

“Just see the lovely purple stones!” cried Priscilla, who had recovered her good humor.

“Those are amethysts,” explained Jack. “They come from Cape Blomidon,” adding to Desiré, “I heard that another vein split open this year.”

“Isn’t it strange that the intense cold nearly every winter brings more of the beautiful jewels to light?” commented the girl.

“A kind of rough treatment which results in profit and beauty,” mused Jack.

“Yes; and, Jack, maybe it will be like that with us. Things are hard now, but perhaps soon we’ll find—”

“Some am’thysts?” asked René excitedly.

“Perhaps,” replied Jack, giving Desiré one of his rare sweet smiles.

The stores had been left behind now, and on every hand were green tree-shaded lawns enclosed by carefully trimmed hedges of English hawthorne in full bloom. Desiré exclaimed with rapture over their beauty, and the size and style of the houses beyond them. On a little side street they paused before a small cottage, half hidden in vines.

“This must be the place,” decided Jack, opening the white gate which squeaked loudly as if protesting against the entrance of strangers. The sound brought a woman to the door.

“I’m looking for Simon Denard,” began Jack.

“You’ve come to the right place to find him,” she replied, smiling, as she came toward them and put out one hand to pat René’s head. “Simon Denard is my father. I’m Mrs. Chaisson. Come right in.”

In the small living room to which she led them sat old Simon, propped up with pillows in a big chair.

“So here ye are,” was his greeting, as the children dashed across the floor to his side.

“Be careful,” warned Desiré quickly. “You might hurt Simon.”

“Let ’em be! Let ’em be!” protested the old man, beaming upon his visitors. “What’s an extra stab of pain, or two?”

“Father has told me about you people so often that I feel as if I knew you,” Mrs. Chaisson was saying to Jack, after he introduced Desiré and the children; “so I want you to stay here as long as you’re in town; that is, if you haven’t made other plans.”

The expression on her kindly face indicated clearly that she hoped they hadn’t.

“But there are so many of us,” objected the boy.

“It’s perfectly all right, if you don’t mind kind of camping out a bit.”

“That’s what we expect to do all summer,” said Desiré; “and we’ll surely be glad of any arrangements you make for us, as long as we don’t put you about too much. You are very kind indeed.”

“Then it’s all settled,” said their hostess briskly; “I’ll get supper right away; for you must be hungry.”

The cottage boasted of a living room, dining room, kitchen, and two small bedrooms; so stowing away four extra people was something of an achievement. Immediately after they had finished the simple but delicious meal that Mrs. Chaisson prepared, Desiré shyly offered to help her hostess in preparation for the night.

“Thank you, my dear; if you will clear up the supper table and do the dishes while I hunt up some bedding, it will be very nice.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself about me,” said Jack, detaining Mrs. Chaisson on one of her many trips through the room; “I can sleep on the porch, or anywhere.”

“I’ll fix some place for you,” she replied, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Just go on with your business arrangements.” He and Simon had been discussing the route, customers, stock, and other details.

Like so many childless women, Mrs. Chaisson had a passion for children; and the thoughts of this little family starting out so bravely in search of a living moved her strongly.

“How I wish I could adopt them all,” she thought as she hurried on. “If only we had a little more money; but then, there’s Father, too, now; it couldn’t be done, even with the help of that fine big boy. I don’t wonder that his sister almost worships him.”

Nine o’clock saw them all settled for a good sleep. Old Simon in his own room, Mrs. Chaisson sharing hers with Priscilla, Desiré on the couch in the living room, and Jack and René in hammocks on the screened porch. It had been decided before they slept that as soon as breakfast was over, they would start out upon the great adventure.

“There is no use in hanging around here,” Jack had said to Desiré in their goodnight talk on the front steps.

“Wouldn’t it seem rather odd, or ungrateful, to hurry away so soon?” suggested the girl. “Mrs. Chaisson has been so very good to us.”

“I know that,” replied Jack quickly; “and for that very reason, we can’t take advantage of her. Then too, the longer we stay, the harder it will be for both sides when we do go.”

The boy had immediately sensed the good woman’s distress over their undertaking, and felt that the kindest act would be their immediate departure.

“Of course I realize,” he went on, “that it’s nice for you to have a little rest, and a woman’s companionship; but—”

“Don’t worry over me, Jack dear,” replied his sister, slipping her hand into his. “Whatever you decide is all right. So we’ll all be ready early in the morning.”

“You’re a good little soul,” answered Jack, with an affectionate goodnight kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Completely happy at his words of commendation, Desiré entered the house; and soon everyone was fast asleep. Shortly after midnight, she was suddenly awakened by the sound of a screen door closing, and steps crossing the porch.

CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT WALK

The thought that perhaps Jack was ill immediately flashed across Desiré’s mind. Throwing on a kimono, she hurried to the door. Down the walk which led to the street, through the gate which had been left part way open, and along the road walked—Priscilla!

No mistaking, even in the shadows, that plump childish form. Where was she going? Without stopping to do more than catch up the child’s coat, and her own which hung beside the door, Desiré followed her. Not wanting to call lest she should waken the neighborhood, she had to run to catch up to her sister; for Priscilla had quickened her pace as she approached the end of the road and turned onto the main street. Coming abreast with her at last, Desiré took the child’s arm; and, stooping to look at her face, was startled to see that her eyes, though open, were unseeing. Shaking with fright, Desiré asked softly—

“Where are you going, Prissy?”

“To the Grand Hotel,” was the prompt and surprising reply.

“But, darling,” protested the older girl, “it’s night, and everybody is in bed and asleep.”

“I’m going to sleep there. I’ve always wanted to.”

Then Desiré realized in a flash that Priscilla must be walking in her sleep. She remembered now that Mother had once spoken of her doing it when she was a very little girl and had become greatly excited over something. The splendors of the hotel must have been on her mind as she went to sleep.

How to get the child back without arousing her was a problem; she had heard that sleepwalkers must not be wakened suddenly.

“Well, dear,” she said quietly, “it’s getting cool. Let’s put on our coats before we go any farther.”

Priscilla stopped obediently, and, after both girls had put on their coats, Desiré took the little girl’s arm and turned her gently around, beginning a low monologue as she did so.

“You’re going in the wrong direction; we must go this way. Soon we’ll be there. Just down this street. We must be very quiet so no one will hear us. Step softly. Quiet!”

Leading, coaxing, hushing, Desiré finally got her sister into the house without waking any one, and settled her upon the living-room couch; for she dared not trust her out of her sight again that night.

“Now you’re all right,” she whispered, removing the child’s coat. “Isn’t that a lovely bed?”

“Yes,” breathed Priscilla, curling up under the blanket.

Noiselessly Desiré drew a big rocking chair close to her sister’s side, propped her feet up on the edge of the couch, and with the two coats spread over her, prepared to spend the rest of the night. No one must know of this escapade. Mrs. Chaisson would be distressed at not having awakened; Jack would be disturbed at having slept so soundly, and perhaps disapprove of her not calling him; and old Simon would be troubled by the idea of what might have happened. Also, Priscilla would probably be made nervous. Too excited to sleep, she dozed, dreamed, started, and wakened again until the first far-away call of a robin pierced the faint grey dawn. Immediately one in a tree beside the cottage answered; then a cock crowed; a song sparrow began its short sweet strains; and the day of the great adventure had really begun.

“Prissy,” she whispered, a little later, bending over the child.

The blue eyes opened lazily.

“Let’s get dressed, Prissy, and surprise Mrs. Chaisson by having the table set and things started before she wakens.”

“All right,” agreed the little girl, sitting up; “but—but—how did I get here?”

“You were rather restless; so I brought you out here with me—” began Desiré.

“And you slept in the chair! Oh, you must be so tired, Dissy. Why did you do it?”

“I’m all right, dear. Never mind about it. Don’t say anything of it to any one!”

“Why?” asked Priscilla, wondering at her sister’s earnestness.

“Because Jack might be afraid I was too tired to start out today, and—”

“Oh, are we really going this morning?” demanded Priscilla, her mind immediately occupied with the exciting prospect.

“Yes; and it’s going to be a glorious day.”

The sound of their voices roused the others; and while breakfast was being prepared, and the house set in order—for Desiré would not leave their hostess any extra work—Jack got the team and wagon ready for departure. At nine o’clock, after reluctant and affectionate farewells had been exchanged, Jack gathered up the reins. Beside him sat Desiré, and directly back of them on little stools were Priscilla and René.

“Now, remember,” repeated Mrs. Chaisson, handing a lunch basket to Desiré, “that this is your home whenever you are in Yarmouth, or any other time you need one. And whenever you can, let me hear how you’re getting on. We’ll be thinking of you all the time.”

“Thank you,” said Desiré, kissing Mrs. Chaisson affectionately, and adding for the tenth time—“You’ve been so very good to us.”

“We shall never forget it,” said Jack, tightening the reins; and Dolly and Dapple, moving away from the gate, put an end to the farewells.

No one saw, hidden away among the maple saplings, scrub pine, and underbrush which covered the field beside the house, the bulky figure of a man. Neither did they hear softly muttered words of anger and revenge.

After they had left Yarmouth behind and were jogging along the road back over the same route they had covered on the train the day before, Desiré turned sidewise in the seat to inspect once more the interior of their “store.” At the back was their trunk, and next to it their box; and on either side, reaching to the very top of the wagon, shelves tightly packed with jars, cans, rolls of material. The small tent which they had bought on their way out of town was laid along the floor at one side.

“I must get acquainted with all the stock,” she observed; “so I’ll be able quickly to find what people want.”

“The first time we stop, you can look things over,” replied Jack. “You’d lose your balance and be rolling out if you tried to do it while we’re moving.”

The younger ones laughed hilariously. They were in high spirits now, and even Jack felt a thrill of excitement under his sober, staid manner.

Up and down the long hills they drove, past numberless lakes and ponds, in and out of woods sweet with the odor of sun-warmed pine, and across rivers whose red mud flats made a vivid splash of color on the landscape.

“So many, many little bodies of water,” murmured Desiré.

“The ground is so uneven,” explained Jack, “that the water settles and forms lakes.”

“Why are the river banks so wide, and so very muddy?” asked Priscilla, leaning on the back of the seat.

“Out there,” answered Jack, waving his arm toward the West, “is the Bay of Fundy, a big, windy, rough body of water, an arm of the Atlantic Ocean. This bay has huge tides, rising in some places to a height of fifty or seventy feet. When the tide is high, the water rushes into all the rivers on this side of the country and fills them to overflowing; then all these banks are covered up. The tide comes twice a day; so you see the flats have no time to dry out.”

Through Brazil, Lake Annes, and Hectanooga they had passed without stopping, and then the children began to get hungry. Jack drew up to the side of the road in the open country, and stopped in the shade of a huge oak tree. There they ate the lunch which Mrs. Chaisson had put up for them, and rested a while, breathing in deep breaths of clover-scented air.

“See the chipmunk, René,” said Jack, pointing to a little animal who was regarding them doubtfully from the trunk of a nearby tree. “See the stripes along his back? Well, once upon a time, many years ago, a wonderful being called Glooscap lived up on Cape Blomidon. He was half god and half man, and tried to make Nova Scotia a very happy, safe place to live in. But there were wicked witches who lived here also, and they wanted to do all kinds of harm. The strongest of them was called Gamona, and any animal who was caught by her was killed or shut up in some cave or hole. One day little Charlie Chipmunk disobeyed his mother and went too far away from home. Suddenly, while he was nibbling at a most delicious nut, he felt himself picked up in terrible sharp claws. What was it his mother had told him to do if he ever got into danger? Alas! He couldn’t remember, and the creature, at whose face he dared not look, was carrying him away so, so fast! Some name he should call. Whose name? Like the lightning which sometimes made their hollow-tree home bright as day, it flashed into his mind.

“‘Glooscap!’ he squeaked.

“Such a tiny, trembling cry reached nowhere at all in that great big forest, yet Glooscap heard it and came to help the little fellow.

“‘Let my child go!’ he ordered, in a voice which, though not very loud, seemed to fill the whole land with its power.

“Gamona ground her teeth with anger. She knew she must obey, yet how she hated to let such a nice plump chipmunk go. Slowly she opened her hand just a little bit, then a little bit more; but the space was not quite wide enough for fat little Charlie. Her long sharp claws scraped his back as he wiggled out, and made long dark scratches. Ever since that day the chipmunk has worn those stripes down the middle of his back.”

“I c’n see ’em jes’ as plain,” observed René.

“Come on,” proposed Priscilla, “see if he’ll eat these crusts.”