CHAPTER XII
IN THE FOG
In the meantime, where was Martine? When Mr. Frazer and his staid sorrelsteed appeared in front of the hotel, Martine had smiled inwardly.
"His horse certainly looks safe, and the man himself,--well, he may be agood guide, as they say, and perhaps he can tell me about everything wesee in passing; but if he proves a bore, as I am perfectly sure he will,I'll contrive some way to rid myself of his company."
It was a perfect afternoon for a ride, mild and windless, with justenough sun to relieve the landscape of the monotony by creating artisticeffects of light and shade. Martine was in great spirits, for, like mostpersons from the inland cities, she loved the sea even more deeply thanthose who dwell beside it.
"The Annapolis basin is tame," she had said the day before. "I am tiredof the still, blue water and the red mud and the marshes and themeadows, and I long for a breath of the real ocean."
"We're some distance still from the ocean," Amy had rejoined. "Thenearest to it is the Bay of Fundy."
"Well, from all I've heard, the Bay of Fundy is fiercer than the oceanitself, and I must see it; for I've been tracing our route on the map,and it seems to me that we've left out the Bay of Fundy altogether; weare curving away from it all the time."
"Perhaps we can have a picnic on the Bay Shore before we leave."
"Oh, no, my dear Miss Amy Redmond; we won't have many days, and 'a birdin the hand is worth two in the bush.' Just as soon as I can manage it,I'm going to the Bay Shore myself."
So Martine had "managed it" by giving up the afternoon at Mrs. Airton's,and now, as she rode along toward the North Mountain, she had a certainfeeling of triumph.
At first she and her guide kept very close together. He felt itincumbent on him to give her as much information as he could about thecountry and its history. Even when his tale concerned the Loyalists,Martine did not assume the air of indifference that was always hers whenPriscilla touched on the same subject.
"It's a pity," said Mr. Frazer, "that there is nothing to be seen now ofall the wonders that old General Ruggles did in his time. He had one ofthe largest grants of land hereabouts, away up over the top of amountain, and though he was past seventy when the war ended, he set towork clearing forests and laying out his grounds like a young man. Heimported all kinds of trees from Massachusetts, and his place was amodel for the whole county. He found a deep gulch on his land that wassheltered from the winds and yet sunny, and there he planted some raretrees,--black walnut and peach and other things that generally grow onlyin the far south."
"Was he an English general?" asked Martine, listlessly.
"Oh, I've heard," replied Mr. Frazer, "that though he was bred a lawyerin Massachusetts, he became a colonel in the wars that the Americansfought against the French, and was high in command at Ticonderoga andCrown Point; it was in that war that he got his title of BrigadierGeneral, and so he might be called an American officer."
"Then what was he doing down here in Nova Scotia?"
"Oh, when the Revolutionary troubles began he wasn't in favor ofbreaking off from the mother country; he was a Chief Justice of CommonPleas, and he wrote and spoke against separation. So at last he and hisfamily had to give up everything and take refuge with the British inBoston. He doesn't seem to have been a fighter against his countrymen,but he preferred exile to sacrificing his principles. I've always beeninterested in the old general," added Mr. Frazer, apologetically,"though I don't just know why, for he was dead long before my fathereven was born. But I've read a lot about him, and people here still tellmany stories of him, and altogether he seems something like those heroeswe hear of, working so energetically to keep his spirits up."
"Yes," said Martine, "I agree with you that it does seem rather heroic,only it's a pity that he was on the wrong side." Then, lest Mr. Frazershould be inclined to argue with her, she quickly changed the subject.
"This road over the mountain is pleasanter than I thought it would be; Imean, everything looks so cultivated and prosperous."
"Oh, there isn't a better section anywhere than this," he replied. "Theorchards and farms all pay well; why, there's a place up beyond," hecontinued, "that they call Paradise; and if it wasn't for winter, whichI suppose they don't have in heaven, I should say that the name justfitted."
Mr. Frazer was so pleased with his own wit that he chuckled softly, andso far forgot himself as to urge his horse forward.
"Let's stop here," cried Martine, "for a moment; I never saw so manybeehives."
"I don't know," replied Mr. Frazer, timidly, "as it's hardly safe;sometimes, when they're swarming, they are apt to sting if you go toonear them."
But Martine was already off her horse and over the low fence, and Mr.Frazer could only follow her example. The farm was situated at thejunction of two roads. Martine had taken the precaution to tether herhorse to a hitching-post, but Mr. Frazer, trusting too implicitly to thesedateness of his steed, had left it unfettered to nibble the grass bythe roadside. The hives that had attracted Martine's attention proved asharmless as she had prophesied, so she wandered on toward anold-fashioned garden, blazing with mid-summer blossoms. Now Jill, thesorrel that Mr. Frazer had ridden so proudly, proved less reliable thanmight have been expected from the character of its owner; for, in thecourse of its nibbling, it wandered down the road, passing back of thefarm, and Mr. Frazer was so intent upon telling Martine all that he knewabout bees and flowers that he quite forgot to keep his eye on hishorse. Thus it happened that the animal found itself near some hiveswhose occupants were changing habitations. Then, at the very moment whenMr. Frazer bethought him of Jill, to his horror and great surprise hesaw her starting on a run down this back road. He did not wait toexplain matters to Martine; he knew by the cloud of bees in the distancethat the horse had undoubtedly been stung. "Wait until I come back," heshouted, as he started in pursuit of his horse.
Martine smiled as he leaped over a fence, his coat tails flying in theair.
"Unseemly haste," she murmured, "for so dignified a person. I wonder howlong he can keep it up."
For five or ten minutes Martine continued to wait in the old-fashionedgarden; then she looked at her watch. It was later than she supposed;the sun was less bright, and a slight chill in the air warned her ofapproaching fog.
"I didn't promise to wait," she said to herself, "and after all thebother of arranging it I can't be cheated out of my sight of the Bay.It's a straight road and perfectly safe, and my horse hasn't shown asign of a trick; so in five minutes, if my guide hasn't returned, Ishall go on alone."
At the end of five minutes Mr. Frazer had not appeared, and Martine,remounting her horse, resumed her way toward the Bay Shore. She set offat a speed that would have quite shaken the breath out of Mr. Frazer,and she was really surprised to discover how much life her animal had.Thus it happened that in spite of the delay she really had a glimpse ofthe Bay of Fundy before the fog had hidden it. It is true that alreadythere was a thin veil of mist floating about her and permitting her tosee rather dimly the rocky shore, and the scattered hamlet that lay ather feet.
Martine felt most uncomfortable. Her situation was certainly lonely, andshe would gladly have borne the rather tiresome conversation of her lateguide for the sake of his protection. But though she waited as long asshe dared, he did not appear; nor did she meet him as she turned abouttoward Annapolis.
Toward Annapolis--but where was Annapolis? For all at once she seemed tobe riding through a cloud, and she recalled a day when she and a partyof friends had thought themselves lost on one of the highest of theWhite Mountains, pushing their way vaguely through the cloud thatenshrouded them. Of one thing, however, she now felt sure. When shereached the crossroads and the farm where the beehives were, she wouldhave no difficulty in continuing her way.
But, alas for all calculations! how it happened she never knew, but soonshe realized that she was on a road quite different from the one bywhich she had travelled to the shore. In the fog she had turnedsomewher
e, and the new road was lonely in the extreme. There were nohouses near; at least, she judged there were not, for the road itselfwas rough, more like a forest road, and both sides seemed to be linedwith trees. For a short time she went on cautiously; then a line ofverse came into her mind that she had heard Amy quote only the daybefore,--
"'When once a man hath missed the right way, The farther he doth go, the farther doth he stray.'"
So she brought herself to a full stop and, slipping from her horse,stood beside him, gently stroking his side.
"Good old fellow," she said gently, "if I'd leave you to yourself, Idare say you'd carry me home safely. Perhaps in a few minutes we canturn round and make a fresh start; but now I want to think."
So she stood for five minutes or more, and among the many thoughts thatflew across her brain was one that, if shaped into words, would havebeen: "I wish that I had gone with the others to Mrs. Airton's." But shecould not remain inactive.
"Whatever happens, I won't be lost on the mountain," cried Martine,emphatically. "It's always better to go on than to stand still, andespecially as the fog is so thick that I'm likely to be drenched to theskin if I stay here much longer."
At this moment the surrounding stillness was broken by a sound; shelistened intently, and in a very short time realized that what she heardwas really the noise of approaching wheels. She drew her horse close tothe side of the road; a vehicle of some kind was near her.
"Hello, hello," she shouted, picturing herself at the moment as astranded mariner on a shipwrecked vessel. The vehicle was close uponher; the driver drew up his horse; Martine approached him.
"What on earth--" he began.
"Yes, on earth," responded Martine. "I shouldn't like to be at sea, lostin the fog."
"So you're lost, are you?" replied the driver of the wagon, in a brisk,cheerful voice. "Well, there's one thing, you needn't stay lost."
Martine looked at the speaker, who had now jumped down from his seat andwas standing beside her. He was a tall youth, with reddish brown hairand a frank, pleasant face, and she judged that he was two or threeyears her senior.
"It's fortunate," he said, "that we happened to have an order for somegroceries up beyond at the Jones farm. I don't come this way once amonth, and there is very little passing any day; so if you had waitedfor some one to rescue you, you would have had to wait a long time."
Martine was not sure that she liked the word "rescue." All her life shehad prided herself on her independence, and it irritated her to realizethat she had put herself in a position that obliged her to depend on astranger.
"'Hello! hello!' she shouted."]
"Perhaps I shouldn't have said 'lost,'" she responded; "I've only justmissed my way a little, and if the fog should lift I could easily findmy way back to my friends."
"If the fog should lift!" The boy laughed heartily. "Are you acquaintedwith the habits of fogs? Or perhaps it behaves differently in theStates; but in this part of the world, when it sets in late in theafternoon, it generally stays all night. But come," he continued moregently, "you'll catch cold if you stay here much longer. I'm on my wayto Annapolis myself, and I'll very gladly take you there. Come," hecontinued, holding out his hand; "you'd better get into the wagon here,and I have a rope by which we can lead the horse behind."
"Oh, no," said Martine; "I can ride just as well. I don't mind the fog,if you will let me follow your wagon."
"Nonsense!" protested the boy; "you can't go fast enough to keep warm,and your horse might make a misstep; and besides," he concluded, "I havea sister about your age and I know what's best for girls. Come, jumpin."
To her own great surprise Martine found herself obeying the strangeyouth; perhaps, after all, she felt that there would be more comfort forher in his covered wagon than in picking her way through the fog, overthe rough road. When she was seated, he handed her a carriage robe whichhe bade her wrap around her; then he tied his rope to the horse'sbridle, saying as he did so:
"I know this animal well, and he'll follow us like a tame cat."
Then he took his seat beside Martine and they drove along slowly. Aftera turn or two they came to the place that Martine called "the beehivefarm." Already she had related the story of Mr. Frazer's adventure, andher acquaintance had laughed heartily at her account of the good man'sflight after the recreant Jill.
"I didn't suppose even a swarm of bees could put any speed into Jill,but Frazer himself is so conscientious that I wonder that he isn'tsitting here on the fence waiting for your return."
As they talked Martine wondered and wondered who her rescuer could be.Both his language and his subjects of conversation were not what shewould have expected from a grocer's boy, for that was what he calledhimself once or twice, and in the back of the wagon there was a largekerosene can, with one or two empty boxes, as well as some packages thatcertainly looked like groceries. But she did not waste much time inspeculating, because she found so many things to ask that she had neverthought to ask any one else before.
"Didn't realize that the first mill on the Continent was built atAnnapolis?"--said her companion, "and you from Chicago, where people aresupposed to think and dream about flour and grain? I am surprised. Andyou didn't know that Membertou, that old Indian, is reckoned the firstconvert made in America? Dear me, where have you been brought up?"
"Oh, I'm learning," responded Martine. "I'd never heard about theAcadians until we came down here. But now I think they're just great;don't you?"
"I should hardly call them great," returned the other, with a smile,"although there's any amount of interesting history connected with them;but I've always taken more interest myself in the early days of PortRoyal than in the exile of the Acadians. I wish they'd change the nameof Goat Island back to Biencourtville, for that's what it's called onLescarbot's map."
"Oh," replied Martine, not knowing what else to say.
She knew nothing about Lescarbot and less about his map, but she didn'twish to display her ignorance.
"I remember Biencourt," she added meekly; "he had a very hard time,hadn't he?"
The face of the other brightened.
"Oh, I'm glad you remember him; he's my idea of a hero. I believe if hehad lived Port Royal would have fared much better. Charles La Tour wasnot at all the same kind of man. But Madame La Tour, ah, she was theright sort! Perhaps you know her story."
"No," replied Martine, meekly, "I do not, but probably Amy does."
"Who is this paragon, this 'Amy'? You've spoken of her several times;she seems to know everything."
"I really think she does," replied Martine--"know almost everything. ButI wish you could tell me about Madame La Tour."
"There won't be time now, but I could lend you a book, if you stay herelonger. She doesn't exactly belong to Annapolis; it was the fort at themouth of the St. John that she defended. But here we are fairly in thetown, and you can consider yourself saved," he concluded with a smile.
"Why, there's Mrs. Airton's house!" exclaimed Martine in surprise; "Ididn't know you were coming this way."
The boy looked at her curiously.
"Do you know Mrs. Airton?"
"Well, not exactly, for I was out when she called, but she was kindenough to ask me to tea to-day, only I thought I'd like to ride instead.I thought that perhaps I'd be back in time for tea."
"You were right in that," rejoined her companion, pulling up his horse."I'm sure they're not through tea yet; I can leave you and take yourhorse on to the stable. Here, jump out."
But Martine hesitated, and for the moment she was annoyed at herrescuer. If Priscilla or Amy should look from a window, how mortifyingit would be to be seen driving in a grocer's cart with a riderless steedtagging on behind.
"No, thank you," she said; "I would rather go on to my boarding-house;please drive on."
She never knew whether her new acquaintance would have heeded herrequest or not, for hardly had she spoken when from a side door EuniceAirton and Priscilla rushed toward the wagon.
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sp; "Where's Martine?" cried Priscilla, excitedly; "we recognized thehorse."
"Oh, Balfour," began Eunice, "what--"
Without further ado Martine jumped down from the seat. The girls hadapproached the wagon from the rear, and at first had not seen her. Hersudden appearance surprised them. By this time Amy had reached thegroup.
"What happened?" and she looked on Martine for an explanation.
"Nothing, nothing," replied Martine, "only I was caught in the fog."
Amy laid her hand on Martine's arm.
"Your clothes are damp; you may take cold."
"Come into the house," added Eunice; "we are not yet through tea."
Martine saw that protest could not avail. As a matter of fact, she wasnot only cold but hungry, and the prospect of something to eat was onethat she could not resist.
"You said that you might come to tea," remarked Amy, "and so Mrs. Airtonwill not be altogether surprised."
Had any one but Amy said this, Martine would have suspected her ofsarcasm; but even if Amy would inwardly smile at her ignominious return,Martine could bear ridicule from her better than from any one else.
When Martine had replaced her waist with a drier one belonging toEunice, Eunice led her to the dining-room, where the others had resumedtheir seats. Mrs. Redmond and Mrs. Airton made little comment on hermisadventure, and never did hot biscuit, and strawberries, andchocolate, and cookies seem more appetizing to Martine than they did onthis occasion. Later, when Amy and Priscilla were helping Eunice clearthe table, Mrs. Airton sat down beside Martine.
"I am glad it was Balfour who found you," she said, "though I am sorrythat he could not come in to tea with you. It is his night at the store,and he usually waits for his tea until late in the evening."
"Balfour?" asked Martine; "who is Balfour? Of course I know he drove mehome, but who is he?"
"Balfour," replied Mrs. Airton, "why, Balfour is my son and Eunice'sbrother."
"Ah," cried Martine, "I did not realize that; now I understand."
But what she understood she did not then explain.
Not long after tea Mr. Frazer rushed excitedly into Mrs. Airton'ssitting-room.
"I'm so glad the young lady's safe," he cried, "though indeed I thoughtshe'd wait for me; but the sorrel led me a long chase, and when I gotback to the farm she wasn't there. But I never thought of her going tothe Bay Shore with the fog rolling in so thick, and when I found shewasn't at the house, I went back again to the farm, thinking she'd takena wrong turn somewhere. At last I met some one who had seen her drivingwith Balfour; then I knew she was safe. So I must apologize again forthe behavior of my sorrel, though it was all the fault of the bees."
Martine forgave the sorrel as readily as she forgave Mr. Frazer, for heradventure had ended so pleasantly that there was no occasion for blamingany one.