CHAPTER VIII
TWO ADVENTURES
"Oh dear," sighed Priscilla three hours later, as she strapped hervalise, "I believe I'd rather stay in one place all summer than move sooften. I shall miss the pier and the barnacles. When we came in from theboat at low tide the other day, it seemed like one of the caverns offairyland--so dark and mysterious."
"Yes, and you'll miss the codfish, too. Amy and I have been goingthrough the missing agony this morning. But I have a fish story thatwill please you, Puritan Prissie. Though curing codfish is a leadingoccupation here six days of the week, on Sunday that man is fined whoeven sticks a pitchfork into a helpless cod--except,--and here I amafraid that this covers a quantity,--that if there has been a week ofwet weather, if Sunday is sunny, then the gentle codfish may be turnedover. This is merely a humane provision for the comfort of the cod, whootherwise would become unduly weary lying so long on one side."
"We shall become unduly weary waiting for you," cried Amy, who hadentered the room during the latter part of Martine's speech. "I hopethat you are both ready, for it is almost train time."
"All aboard then," cried Martine. "If my hat is on straight, nothingneed delay us. Let me help you with your valise, Priscilla. My luggagehas gone on."
When they reached the station Mrs. Redmond and her party found thatafter all they had some time to spare. At five minutes past the hourthey took their seats. "Standard time, Halifax time, hotel time, localtime," hummed Martine. "I wonder which we're starting by."
Presently the conductor walked along the station platform to the littlewaiting-room, and from the open window they heard him speak to some oneinside.
"Have you made up your minds yet, ladies, about going?" he asked in apolite tone.
"Oh, gracious, yes," exclaimed a shrill voice. "We were waiting for thebell;" and two elderly women hurried toward the train with theirknitting in their hands. Amy had noticed them busily knitting there, ina corner, when she passed. It seemed, by the conductor's subsequentexplanation, that knowing they were uncertain whether to go by thattrain or the next, he had patiently waited for them to decide.
Bear River was one of the places where Mrs. Redmond had planned to stay.After a short railroad journey that included a passage over somewonderful bridges, beyond which was a great extent of water, and after adrive of five or six miles, they found themselves gazing down atpicturesque Bear River. The beautiful town sloped to a broad stream, itswhite houses and spires half hidden by trees.
"It reminds me of Switzerland," cried Martine.
"It's a dream," exclaimed Priscilla.
"I don't believe Fritz has seen anything more beautiful," added Amy.
"It deserves a more beautiful name," said Mrs. Redmond.
"But, really, mamma, it's named for Imbert, the explorer, and the namedoesn't seem so bad when we think of that."
Their day in Bear River proved to be a gala day of the town. They hadarrived at the height of the Cherry Carnival, and games and boat-racesand other festivities had been arranged as part of the celebration. Thegirls were up very early that first morning, and soon after breakfastMartine was out with her camera, taking snapshots in every direction. Afat old squaw in a red jersey pretended to be afraid of the kodak, andturned her head; but there was a grin on her face as she looked around,which Martine quickly caught. Another squaw, also fat, with a littlepappoose in her arms and another clinging to her skirts, begged Martineto take her.
"Where you live?" asked Martine, as if talking to a child.
"Up there," pointing vaguely in the distance.
"Where?"
"Reservation; you come see."
Martine was interested.
"Is it far?"
"Oh, no."
"What's your name?" asked Martine.
"Marie Brown. You find my house."
Though the name didn't seem to fit the Indian, Martine was glad that itwas one that she could remember; for all in a moment she had made up hermind to visit the Reservation.
During the morning, while she watched the sports and chatted with thebystanders and ate dozens and dozens of the famous Bear River cherries,Martine said nothing to the others of her intention of visiting theReservation. It would be easy enough to borrow Amy's bicycle and saythat she did not care to drive with the others.
Everything happened as she planned.
"Bear River is so hilly," said Mrs. Redmond, "that you will hardly wheelvery far. But yet it's a quiet little place, and there is no risk inyour doing some sight-seeing by yourself."
Martine soon found herself on a road leading toward the MicmacReservation; she had asked her way once or twice, and felt lonely ashouses and shops were left behind; but though she was going in thedirection of the Reservation, she saw nothing to remind her of Indians.
"Where are the wigwams? Surely with so many Indians around there must bewigwams somewhere."
Martine looked about anxiously at trees, bushes, and at one or two smallwooden houses. She had been riding for half an hour, and she felt thatshe had not taken the wrong way. There was nothing to do but to inquireat one of the little houses. As she approached it, she realized that itwas an Indian dwelling; three pappooses were playing in front of it, anda tall, thin squaw, in a purple calico gown, came out to the door as sheentered the gate.
"Marie Brown," said the woman; "oh, that far away. Too far for you; youbetter go home; it's late."
Martine knew that this was intended as advice, not as discourtesy, butMartine was not fond of advice, and she decided that if she could notsee Marie Brown she would visit the chapel, of which she had heard someone speak at dinner that day.
When she asked the way, the woman drew her one side to an open spacebehind the house, where, on a hill that did not look too remote, she sawa small, square building with a cross on top for a steeple; so after alittle conversation with the squaw about her people and their way ofliving, Martine pushed on toward the hill. She soon found that she mustleave her bicycle behind, as there was no good road and the path wassteep, and finding a spot that was screened by bushes, she left herwheel there; so on she went on foot until she had come to the enclosure,in the centre of which stood the Micmac Chapel.
Seen at close range, it looked like a toy church, built plainly of wood,absolutely simple and bare on the outside. Martine raised herself on aledge of wood so that she could look in through the windows. There wassomething almost pathetic in the tawdry attempts at decoration--thelittle altar draped with old lace curtains and gold lace and some fadedflowers. On top there was a silver cross within a white canopy, and asmall altar with a canopy in the corner. Walking around the graveyard,Martine noticed that there were French names on almost all the stones.
Suddenly she was disturbed by the barking of a dog, and, following thedirection of the sound, she saw a house on a hill high above the chapel.The dog was running up and down in front of the house, and barkingloudly, as if he detected the presence of a stranger near the church.Martine remembered that the Indian woman in the cabin below had spokenof the chief's house near the church, but this did not reassure her.Perhaps the chief, himself, would object to the presence of a youngAmerican girl, and she began to wonder how she should make her peacewith him if he should interfere; she was less afraid of the possiblechief, however, than of the very real dog, whose barking stillcontinued. To leave the enclosure by the way she had come would bringher out in full view of the creature. To avoid this, therefore, withsome difficulty she climbed a fence at the other side, believing thatshe was going straight in the direction of the bicycle. But alas for hermiscalculations! She was in a tangled thicket of shrubbery; she tore herdress and scratched her ankles, and she could not get back to thebicycle nor even find the cabin from which she had been directed to thechapel.
When at last she reached the broad road, she sat down disconsolately bythe side of a fence.
"Why was I so foolish as to borrow Amy's bicycle?" Had it been her ownwheel, so reckless was Martine's disposition, she would have left i
tbehind without a qualm. Yet though it was quite possible for her to buya new one for Amy, it did not seem quite right to return to the hotelwithout it. While she was pondering, without seeing any way out of thedifficulty, she heard a shrill voice crying,--
"Hi, lady, hi!"
Turning about, she saw the tall, thin Indian woman in the purple gownwalking down the hill and guiding the bicycle beside her.
"Why, how did you know I was here?" asked Martine, after she had thankedher profusely.
"Oh, I could see the way you start from the chapel, and I thought younot find your wheel, so I thought I bring him."
Martine, thanking the woman warmly, gave her all the silver that shehappened to have in her purse,--not a very large sum from her point ofview, but magnificent from that of the Indian.
The squaw then walked with her down the hill and into the village,saying that young ladies should not go so far alone. As they walked,Martine asked several questions about Indian life, and was told that, inthe summer, many were away selling baskets or fishing; they would becoming back soon, she said, and even as she spoke Martine looked towardthe river on which two canoes were gliding, each containing two or threeIndians and their numerous belongings.
"They are coming back for St. Anne's Day," said the woman; "great timethen at the chapel."
They had not gone very far together when, turning a corner, the two camesuddenly on Priscilla and Amy.
"Oh, Martine," cried the latter, "where have you been? We have had ourtea, and mother is so worried about you."
"I hope it was a good tea and that you saved me some," rejoined Martine;"for now that you mention it, though I hadn't thought of it before, Irealize that I'm half starved."
"But where have you been?"
"Oh, I've been a kind of babe in the woods, only there weren't anyberries for me to feed on, and all that I have to show for my adventureare these tears in my gown."
"Good-bye, ladies," said the Indian woman, while Martine was talking,"and I thank you much," she concluded, holding out her hand to Martine.
In a moment she had disappeared.
"Is that another protegee?" asked Priscilla, a little sharply.
Martine did not answer. She had already plunged into a lively account ofher afternoon, omitting nothing, not even her own carelessness inrelation to the bicycle.
At the hotel Mrs. Redmond spoke to Martine more seriously about thedanger in expeditions by herself. "I had no idea that you thought ofdoing anything beyond wheeling around the town," she said; "and if youhad met any real mishap, it would have been very hard for Amy and me, inwhose care your father and mother put you."
So Martine promised that in the future she would be less thoughtless."Although to be honest," she added, "my thoughts are so apt to comeafterwards that it is almost dangerous to promise anything."
That evening, in the little hotel parlor, when Martine narrated heradventure, an old gentleman who was a permanent boarder there told hermany anecdotes of the Micmacs.
"In the early days, as you know, they were very friendly to the French.They were early baptized and became Roman Catholics, and as they beganto be civilized, they liked to be known by French names, and manymarried with the French. The Canadian Government is very good to them,and provides for them on reservations or encourages them to own land forthemselves. The children all go to school, some in reservation schools,and some attend the ordinary day schools with white children. While someof them still prefer to live by hunting, fishing, and Indianhandicrafts, others work in mills and on railroads; and, on the whole,they compare well with the lower class of white citizens, for they _are_citizens with certain voting rights."
"I thought they'd be more picturesque and like real savages," saidMartine. "I was so disappointed. There's something attractive in thename 'Micmac,' and I supposed that at least they'd live in wigwams."
"Considering the way in which you rushed in among them," interposed Mrs.Redmond, "I should think you would be glad that you met only tameIndians to-day."
"Very tame," rejoined Martine. "Only a tall, thin Indian woman in apurple calico gown."
"There are certainly not many of the original red men left in NovaScotia," said Mr. Dolph, the gentleman who had been talking to them."There are some collections of their legends that are interesting toread, and the names of many Nova Scotia places are of Indian origin."
"Oh, yes," said Amy; "I came across some lines to-day that I copied,"and she began to recite:
"'The memory of the Red Man, How can it pass away? While their names of music linger, On each mount and stream and bay? While Musquodoboit's waters Roll sparkling to the main, While falls the laughing sunbeam On Chegoggin's fields of grain?'"
The next morning, when they were ready to leave Bear River, Amy decidedto wheel rather than drive to the station. It was hardly five miles,over a main road, and she felt that she needed exercise.
"Keep us in sight, Amy."
"Oh, yes, if I don't pass you," she replied.
But Amy at first lagged behind,--there were so many lovely points ofview, and she stopped several times to enjoy them to the utmost. What acurious effect, to look down on the river, or rather to look down from ahill, and see a ship apparently moored among trees! Of course theexplanation was that the beautiful Bear River lay in a narrow valley,surrounded by hills that descended sharply to its very margin, withtrees so close together on its banks as to produce the strange effectthat Amy had noted.
The carriage was out of sight when Amy finally pushed on. Shortly sherealized that pedalling required great effort. At first she ascribed herdifficulty to the hills, but a slight grating of the wheel made her lookat her tires, and, to her dismay, she found a small puncture. Whatshould she do? She glanced at her watch, and was surprised to see howmuch time she had lost. One or two wagons had already passed her ontheir way to the train, and she regretted that she had not called forhelp. It might have been ignominious--it certainly would have been morediscreet--to make her appearance at the station carried in a wagonrather than to lose her train altogether, as now appeared probable. Shestopped a boy whom she met walking toward her.
"How far is it to the station?" she asked.
"Only a little way," he replied, after the fashion of boys, and shepushed on hopefully. She heard wheels in the distance, and made up hermind to humiliate herself to the extent of asking the new-comer toassist her; but when the vehicle came in sight it proved to be a narrow,one-seated buggy, and its three passengers seemed more than enough forit. A little farther on she heard an ominous whistle. The train wasnearing the station. She felt indignant.
"Why should this particular train be on time on this particular day?Nova Scotia trains are not noted for hurrying."
Now she was walking and dragging her bicycle along. She met a number ofpersons who evidently had left the train at the Bear River station andwere walking up to their homes. Then she heard the engine whistle againas the signal for starting on, and she knew that it was useless to godown to the station itself. She stood still for a moment, halfparalyzed. Of course there was no special danger; her mother and theothers might go on to Annapolis without her, and she could return toBear River for the night; but it was all very mortifying. Then a suddenthought came to her; in fact, it had occurred to her when she firstdiscovered the punctured wheel.
"If Fritz were with me, he would have found some way of mending thepuncture; in fact, one man is almost necessary on an excursion." Thatwas what Fritz himself had said to her.
She recalled his very words, and the remark with which he hadended,--"Then you'll remember me."
But there was no time for reflection now. The train was coming slowlyalong the bridges; Amy could see the smoke from the engine. Between herand the track lay an open space--a slight decline from the point whereshe stood on the road--covered with long grass and bushes. A quickimpulse urged her on; at the worst she could only fail; Nova Scotiaconductors were very obliging, and there was more than half a chancet
hat she might succeed. She lifted her bicycle across her arm, managedto climb over the low fence, and was pushing her way down the hill asthe train drew near. A man, probably the conductor, was standing on theplatform of a car; she waved her hand violently. The train seemed tomove more slowly; a man thrust his head out of the engine cab; he, too,had seen her. She was now not far from the track; the train stood still;the conductor leaped down from his post, plunged into the shrubbery,relieved her of her wheel, and she followed him without a word; then oneor two passengers pulled her on board the train, the signal was given,and the engine started on.
"Lucky it wasn't a flying express," said one of the passengers.
"I guess they wouldn't do that in the States," said another.
Red-faced and crestfallen, Amy found herself a moment later in the bosomof her family.
"A punctured tire," she began.
"Yes, yes; don't try to talk."
Amy sat still.
Martine fanned her.
Priscilla brought her a glass of water.
Her mother asked for no explanation.
The passengers stared at her; the majority as if amused, though. One ortwo talked as if they thought their rights had been infringed.
"We were sorry," Mrs. Redmond said later, "to go without you, but it wasbetter for you to be left than for the rest of us to lose the train; weknew you could go back to Bear River, and we could have telegraphed youwhat to do; we knew you would be equal to the occasion."
"So I was."
"Well, we hardly expected you to stop a train."
"Oh, the train stopped me."
"'All's well that ends well'"
Later in the day Martine came over to sit beside Amy.
"I'm afraid, Amy, that I may have punctured your tire yesterday; theroad to the chapel was so very stony."
"Tires are bound to be punctured," replied Amy, "and if this hadn'thappened when it did, I shouldn't have had the fun of stopping a train."