CHAPTER IV
YVONNE
"She is adopted," said Alexandre, "but we know no difference. She callsus her parents. Her mother and father are dead, and she makes her homewith us since she was a baby. When I get my gold out she shall sing, oh,so beautifully."
"Your gold out?" queried Amy.
"Ah, yes! Back here on my farm, which looks all rocks, there is muchgold underneath. I know not how to get it out, but some day I shall finda miner who knows. See!"
From a drawer in the dresser he brought out two pieces of quartz, whichhe asked the girls to look at carefully. "It is gold underneath, sansdoute, and, Mees, if you know a miner in Boston to study this, he couldhave some of my gold when it is dug out, but as for me I know not how toget it out, and poor Yvonne cannot have her music."
Gradually the girls gathered that Yvonne had a voice "sweeter than anangel's," and that Alexandre had set his heart on giving her a musicaleducation. His plans soared far beyond the Western continent. He wouldsend her to Paris, to Italy, and she should astonish the world. The mostof this conversation or monologue took place in the little field back ofthe house that Alexandre dignified as "my farm." The soil was poor androcky, and evidently he had hard work to raise the few patches ofvegetables needed for his family. There was a tiny orchard,--it had notbeen an Acadian farm without that. The trees were knotty and scrubby,and Amy was not surprised that the prospect of a gold-mine offered evenmore than the usual attractions to the visionary Alexandre. But Amy,though she knew nothing of mineralogy, thought it most unlikely that agold-mine lay hidden beneath the stony surface in which Alexandre haddug a deep, deep hole with a vague idea that it was a shaft. Indeed, Amyfelt quite sure that even a mineralogist--for such was the meaning ofhis "miner"--would give him little encouragement. Yet as she looked atthe slender figure of Yvonne walking ahead with Martine, she felt deepsympathy with his ambition.
Evidently Yvonne, in spite of her infirmity, was the pride of the littlehousehold. Her print gown of a delicate pink cambric was spotlesslyneat, and her white sunbonnet had been laundered with the greatest care.Though much shorter and slighter than Martine, the latter was surprisedto find that the little Acadienne was hardly a year younger, and that itwas true, as Alexandre said, that she ought soon to have the chance tostudy--if--and here was the question--if her voice was what he picturedit.
"Miss Amy," murmured Priscilla, half impatiently, "I thought that wecame to see the loom."
"Indeed we did, but these people have been so interesting that we havespent too much time out here." Then turning toward their host, who hadfallen back, she asked him to show them the loom.
"Ah, yes, with the greatest pleasure,--the loom, and the beautifulquilts that my wife makes, and the lace of Yvonne. The mine did almostmake me forget, but we shall go in quick."
When they were again in the house he led them up a steep flight ofstairs to an unfinished room, with great rafters overhead and two smallwindows admitting little light.
There at the loom sat his silent wife, and beside her stood the equallysilent sister. So it fell on Alexandre to explain the workings of thegreat wooden frame. While he was talking, however, the attention of allthe girls flagged a little. Amy had never been interested in machinery,and made no pretence of understanding it. Priscilla was impressed by thequaintness of the scene, but she was weary from her two or three days oftravelling, and her mind wandered while the voluble Frenchman wastalking; and Martine, fully occupied with Yvonne, paid little heed toany one else. Nevertheless they were all sufficiently impressed with theskill with which the rather dull-looking wife of Alexandre managed warpand woof, and produced, even as they were looking at her, a fragment ofpattern.
While Alexandre was in the midst of one of his speeches Priscillawhispered to Amy, and Amy, as if at her suggestion, turned to Alexandre.
"We cannot stay much longer," she said politely, "and we are delightedto have seen this loom, so that we can understand how these quilts aremade. It's really quite wonderful, your wife is so clever;" and shepaused for a moment to watch the busy fingers now flying in and outamong the threads. "But we came particularly to see some of the quilts."
"Oh, yes, Mees, certainly, we will show you quick;" then with an eye tobusiness,--"perhaps you will want to buy."
"Yes," said Amy, "perhaps we may. Come, Priscilla; come, Martine."
The two women followed the girls downstairs, and when they were again inthe little front room, from a wooden chest in the corner they broughtout a large quilt of much more beautiful design than any they had seen.
"I must have that," cried Martine in delight; "it is just what I want."
Then, when a second was shown, she was equally enthusiastic, and then athird was laid on top of the pile.
"The money from the quilts is saved for Yvonne," Alexandre whispered toAmy, and the latter did not protest when four of the quilts were laidaside for Martine. Amy also chose one for herself, but Priscilla,although she praised them, expressed no inclination to buy. Only whensome narrow hand-made lace was brought out from the chest did she becomeenthusiastic, or as nearly enthusiastic as was possible for Priscilla,and Yvonne blushed under her praise.
"It is an old art," the little blind girl explained; "it was mygrandmother taught me, and her grandmother taught her, and so on back tothe days of old France."
"But how can she do it? She is blind!" exclaimed Amy.
"Oh, not all blind, and not always! She can see a little, thougheverything is dim, and the lace it is knitted,--not pillow lace, likesome,--and she can make her fingers go, oh, so quickly! Ah, she has muchtalent, the little Yvonne, and you must hear her sing."
So Yvonne sang to them standing there in the middle of the room, withoutnotes and unaccompanied, and the plaintiveness of the tone and therichness of the voice drew tears from the eyes of the three Americangirls, while father and mother and aunt were lost in admiration as theygazed at the slender figure in the pale pink gown.
Hardly had she finished when Martine, jumping up, impulsively threw herarms about Yvonne's neck.
"You must go back with me to the hotel. You must sing to me again. Thereis a melodeon in the parlor, and I will accompany you. Please, Mr.Babet, can she go back with us?"
"It is an honor for Yvonne," he replied politely; "I will ask hermother."
"Oh, let me; I will make her say 'Yes'"; and in a few words of rapidFrench Martine asked that Yvonne might go to the hotel as her guest, tostay to tea. The mother at once assented, and both of the silent womenwere in a flutter of excitement as they accompanied Yvonne to herbedroom to make some additions to her dress.
"Ah," said Alexandre, "she has never been inside the hotel; it will seemvery grand to her."
Then Yvonne, kissing them all,--the mother, the aunt, and finally thetall father,--turned her back to the cottage, and with beaming faceleaned on Martine's arm as Amy led the way.
A little distance down the road they saw a man standing by a gate.
"Good-day, little one," he called; "where are you going?"
"To the hotel, Uncle Placide."
"How happens it?"
"These American ladies have asked me. I am to have tea."
"Ah, well, she is a dear little one, and you are good to her."
The whole party had now halted in front of the gate, and these wordsseemed to be particularly addressed to Amy; for, standing directly infront of her, Placide lifted his hat. "Won't you enter?" he askedpleasantly.
"But, uncle," remonstrated Yvonne, "we have no time; we go to thehotel."
"Oh, but there is much time; I have been in the States, and I like totalk to the strangers, so enter my garden at least, ladies, to taste ofmy cherries."
There was nothing to do but enter the garden. At the mention of cherriesYvonne indeed had seemed more willing to halt on her way to the hotel,and the others, as Placide thrust upon them liberal handfuls of hisgreat crimson cherries, did not regret the delay.
"You are from Boston," he said, after Amy had mention
ed her home. "Ah, Iworked in Boston, that is, in Lowell, which was the same, and then Icame home when I had saved enough to buy a house. It is not so gay hereas in Lowell, but it is happier, and I can make a pleasanter living. Inever did like the mill, but the pay was good."
"What do you do now, Mr. Placide?" asked Amy.
"Oh, I fish. The sea is good to us Acadians; it is better than thefactory. One gets health here as well as fish, and fish enough to keepthe house fed. So, with my potatoes and my cherries, I am rich." Then,with an afterthought,--"But I hope sometime that little Yvonne can go toBoston, where there is much music. She could study and be great singer,for the voice it needs teaching. I know that, because I have been in theStates where people study so much."
The girls found it hard to leave Placide, for he was even more fluentthan Alexandre, and his years in the States had given him a certainamount of information about things American, and he was evidently fondof displaying what he knew. But at last they managed to say good-bye,and continued their way down the road.
"I am tired," sighed Priscilla, as the four stood at the door of thelittle hotel.
"Then let us sit here on the piazza. Would this suit you, Yvonne?"
Yvonne turned toward Amy with a smile. "I like whatever the other ladieslike; it is all good for me."
"Oh, yes," added Martine, "it will be great fun to sit here and watchthe passers-by. Things are rushing this afternoon; two persons areentering that shop across the way, and I can count three ox-carts andtwo buggies in sight. Where do you suppose the buggies are going?"
"Perhaps half a mile up the road; perhaps to Yarmouth. You know there isa continuous street along St. Mary's Bay, about forty miles fromYarmouth to Weymouth."
"One street forty miles long!" Amy's statement roused Priscilla from herlethargy.
"The young lady says true," interposed Madame, their landlady, who hadstepped out on the piazza. "Forty miles, and all Acadians! Is it notmarvellous that they have grown to be so much, when the English treatedthem so cruelly, long, long ago?"
"Ah, yes, Evangeline," responded Martine, politely.
"Evangeline never came back," said the literal Priscilla.
"That is true," assented the landlady. "But there is more thanEvangeline to tell about. Little Yvonne here knows many tales."
Yvonne sighed softly. "Ah, yes, very many. But Evangeline lived not inMeteghan. Her country was Grand Pre, far north. You will go there,without doubt?"
"Yes, Yvonne, we shall spend a week there."
"There are not so many stories about Meteghan, for no one lived hereuntil after the exile."
"I remember one," interposed Amy; "the story of Aubrey, who was lost inthe woods. At least, some writers say that he was lost in the Meteghanwoods, others that it all happened near Digby."
"Tell us the story, Amy, and we can decide for ourselves where it was."
"How like Martine!" thought Priscilla, "as if a girl could decide whereto place an historic event!"
"After all," continued Amy, "it's only a little story, but it tells ofsomething that happened on that first expedition to St. Mary's Bay, whenDe Monts brought his vessels here in 1604, and Champlain named thisstretch of water, as he named so many other places. One member of theexpedition was Aubrey, a priest, with an intelligent love of nature. Asmall party went off from the vessel to look for ore along the shores ofSt. Mary's Bay. The priest was one of the number, but when the boat wasready to return he could not be found. He had left his sword in thewoods, and had gone back to look for it. For four days the otherssearched for him without success, and suspicion fell on one or twoHuguenots in the party, in whose company he was last seen. With one ofthem he had had some rather violent discussions on religious matters. Tothe credit of all, however, no harm was done to the Huguenots in spiteof the suspicion. After sailing without Aubrey, the party went farthernorth, and it was nearly three weeks before they returned to theneighborhood where he had disappeared."
"Did they find him?" asked Martine, somewhat impatiently. Amy was tolearn that Martine's temperament led her always to desire the climaxalmost before she had heard the story itself.
"Yes, they found him; for when they were some distance from shore theysaw something that looked like a flag waving. A boat was sent out, andto the delight of those who went in it, they saw that the flag was ahandkerchief tied to a hat on a stick, that the missing Aubrey washolding to attract their attention. Looking for his sword, the goodpriest had missed his way, and for seventeen days he had wandered in thewoods, living on berries and roots."
"How delighted he must have been to see his friends!"
"Not more delighted than they to see him; for had he not been found, theconsequences for the suspected Huguenots might have been serious."
"It is Yvonne's turn to tell us a story," said Martine, "but we all needto rest before tea, and I want to tell your mother about the quilts. Ifshe disapproves of my buying so many--"
"I suppose that you will send them back;" Amy's tone contradicted herwords.
"Oh, no; I will not send them back. But I do wonder what I shall do withthem."
Yvonne and Martine went indoors, and Amy and Priscilla soon followed.Amy prepared her mother for Yvonne by telling her all that they hadlearned about the little girl.
"I won't discourage Martine's altruism," said Mrs. Redmond. "Herimpulsiveness in the past has sometimes led her into trouble, butMartine herself will be benefited by having this warm interest inanother. As to the quilts, though we cannot carry them about with us,they can be easily expressed home, and the duty will not be large."
After tea the whole party sat in the little parlor, to listen to Yvonne.Her first two or three songs were without accompaniment. They wereplaintive songs with French words, and unfamiliar to the Americans whowere listening. But a chance question revealed the fact that Yvonne wasalso familiar with much music that Amy knew well. Thereupon Martinesuggested that if Amy would improvise some accompaniments Yvonne mightbe heard to even better advantage. So Amy, seated there at the melodeon,played, and Yvonne continued to sing, and some of the music was renderedwith a dramatic power that surprised all who listened.
"Ah, she will be great some day," said the landlady, listeningenraptured to the bird-like tones. "How it had pleased her poor motherto know that she was to be a singer!"
While Yvonne sang, various plans were rushing through Martine's busybrain. "Yvonne shall have a parlor organ, Yvonne shall have teachers,Yvonne shall have her eyes examined by a good oculist. Evidently she isnot blind,--not really blind."
While she was thinking and planning, her eyes never left the face of thelittle French girl, held there by the wonderfully happy expression whichlit it. Yvonne's wide, brown eyes, her half-parted lips, the littlebrown tendrils curling around her forehead, all combined to make apicture that impressed itself strongly on all in the room. Moreover, thegentle and unassuming manner of the young singer, as she received thepraise showered on her, completely won the hearts of all. Or perhaps itwould be more nearly true to say that if Priscilla's heart was notcompletely won, she at least had begun to see some reason in Martine'sinfatuation.
"Is it not wonderful?" asked Martine of Mrs. Redmond.
"She certainly sings remarkably well--for a little girl."
Martine looked up quickly at Mrs. Redmond. Was the latter able to findsome flaw in what she herself considered altogether perfect? She had notime just then to question her, for Yvonne herself might overhear thereply, and besides, the young girl was about to sing again, and Martinecould not spare a note.
When at last the tall figure of Alexandre Babet appeared in the doorway,they knew that the music must end, and with a protracted farewell fromMartine, Yvonne and her adopted father started for home before nineo'clock.
"Yvonne did not seem as much overcome by the grandeur of the hotel asAlexandre prophesied," remarked Amy, as the girls went upstairs.
"Yvonne would never be overpowered by anything," responded Martine; "Idon't believe she'd be surprised by th
e Auditorium."
Whereat both Amy and Priscilla laughed loudly. "To compare small thingswith great," said Priscilla, "of course she wouldn't be impressed bythis hotel. Why, it's smaller than a summer boarding-house."
"I wonder what Alexandre meant?" mused Martine.
"Oh, it was only his way of trying to make you think that you were doingYvonne a great favor by asking her here," responded Amy.
"Yes, the French way of pretending that things are what they are not,"added Priscilla, as if the word "French" comprised the very essence ofdeceit.
"Take care," retorted Martine. "I never dared tell you before, but I hada French great-great-grandmother."
Although Priscilla made no reply to this, her inward comment was, "Thataccounts for many things that have made me wonder."
At breakfast the next morning, before Martine had come down to thetable, Amy asked her mother what she really thought of Yvonne's singing.
"I do not profess to be a judge of that kind of thing, but the childseems to have a fine natural voice, as well as a musical nature. Yet,like all other singers, she must have her tones properly placed, and sheis still too young to profit by expensive musical instruction. It is myown opinion that it would be better for her to sing little for the nextfew years. Some of the things that she sang last evening were beyondher, and there is danger of her forcing her voice, and so injuring it."
"Have you said this to Martine?"
"No, for Martine is the type of girl who profits most by finding outthings for herself. She will learn gradually that everything cannot bedone at once for Yvonne."