"Oh, the King gave a large grant of land and provisions for three years and some building material. Many who came to settle would not stay, and it was harder for those who did remain. There was no church even, for a long time, until good Mr. Viets came; he did everything for the white settlers, and even held a school for the Blacks."

"The Blacks?"

"Oh, yes; you see many people brought their slaves with them."

"Southerners?"

"No, New Yorkers. Many Northern people had slaves in those days. I know that my grandfather had two, but when he died he left them their freedom in his will. Out at the Joggins' there are still living many descendants of these slaves, and of the Black Pioneers, a regiment of Blacks that fought on the English side in the war."

"What you've told us is almost as romantic as the French Revolution,"

said Priscilla.

"Maybe so," replied the old lady, hesitatingly, "though things probably did not seem romantic to the first settlers here; but perhaps it's just as well that our lot was cast in this healthy climate. I hear there's a great deal of sickness in New York, and it's a great big city where people care only for money. I'm sorry our young people go off so much to the States; they could all make a comfortable living if they would only stay at home."

Amy could not refrain from admiring the china and all the daintiness of the little house, plain and unpretending though it was. But the most interesting thing of all was the old lady with her charming manner and fund of history.

"I've heard my mother say," she remarked before they went, "that the first name of Digby was Conway, and it was only after Admiral Digby had been here that it was named in his honor."

"Why didn't the French settle Digby?" asked Priscilla; "they seem to be everywhere else in Nova Scotia."

"Probably because there are no marshes; they were attracted by the d.y.k.e lands at Annapolis and Grand Pre."

The girls bade good-bye to Mrs. Tatem with real regret. Before she returned to the hotel Amy wandered by herself in a little old churchyard where lay many of the first settlers, and as she looked at the weather-beaten stones she saw that many of those who lay buried there were natives of New York or its neighborhood; closing her eyes for a moment to shut out the present, she pictured to herself what life in the wilderness must have been to these refugees who had suffered everything in a losing cause.

That afternoon Martine's friend, Peggy, from Philadelphia, invited them all to join a sailing party; though at first disinclined to go, Amy at last accepted the invitation. It was a delightful afternoon, with wind and sea in their favor, and the charm of the surrounding scenery was increased by a delicate mist that hovered over the North Mountain, as a reminder of the Bay of Fundy outside.

For some reason this sail around Digby reminded Amy of some of her excursions in Marblehead Harbor, especially of a certain day on the "Balloon," and this in spite of the fact that the "Mary Jane" in no way compared in equipment with Philip's yacht. No picture of Marblehead could of course be complete unless Fritz were in it, and almost to her annoyance Amy now found Fritz occupying a large corner of her mind.

Nevertheless, she was interested in all that was going on around her, and once or twice lent a hand to the skipper, when a sudden change of wind occasioned a quick shifting of the sails. Then the Bluenose skipper complimented the Yankee girl on her skill in handling the ropes, and Martine and Priscilla and Peggy expressed their astonishment that she should know so much about a boat.

For almost the first time since their departure from Boston Priscilla was now in good spirits; she had overcome her original homesickness, and her letters from Plymouth had been so cheerful that she was almost ready to find enjoyment in the new scenes and faces. Between her and Martine there was less intimacy than between her and Amy. Mrs. Redmond was sorry to see that, for some reason, Priscilla lacked confidence in Martine.

This was to be accounted for, perhaps, by the fact that the two girls were so unlike in temperament and education. Though reserved in speech, Priscilla was uncompromisingly accurate in statement; Martine, on the other hand, while apparently unreserved, occasionally lacked frankness.

No one could accuse her of being untruthful, and yet her exaggerations and her occasional concealments were a constant annoyance to the literal Priscilla.

On the second day of their stay at Digby, Martine had written a long letter to Yvonne, and at the same time had sent her a roll of new music, which she had happened to find in a Digby shop.

"If I knew just how long we should be here, I really think I would send for Yvonne to spend a week with us."

"We shall not be here a week," rejoined Mrs. Redmond, "and I am afraid that Yvonne would rather handicap us if we tried to have her travel farther."

On their last morning at Digby, Amy and Martine had a parting walk around the wharf. The wharf had been a source of much amus.e.m.e.nt to Martine, and she had sketched it at high tide when it looked just like any other wharf, and at low tide when it rose high above the water, its sides covered with seaweed and barnacles. Indeed the vagaries of the Bay of Fundy tides were an endless amus.e.m.e.nt to the party, exposing, as they did, long, long stretches of reddish mud, and apparently casting up all kinds of craft high and dry on the land.

"Now, around by the fish-houses," cried Martine; "how I shall miss the cod which we meet here at every turn! Fish flakes, in my mind, will always be the emblem of Digby. Priscilla says that she has seen more on Cape Cod, but I can hardly believe her. It's strange that no one has given us a Digby chicken since we came here. Any one would suppose that the Digby chicken is the only fish that grows here; yet really and truly we haven't seen one, have we, since our arrival? For it's the cod that's everywhere, and it's funny to think that they send so much codfish to the West Indies. People there must be thirsty enough without having cod sent to tantalize them."

On their way back to the hotel they did an errand in a corner shop. The clerk addressed them in rather broken English, and in answer to Amy's question said that he was a descendant of an Acadian exile. He told them one or two anecdotes, and when he had to turn to other customers Amy waited until they were served, hoping to hear more from him.

"That negro," he explained, as a tall Black went out of the shop, "is a descendant of one of the slaves of the Revolution."

"Was that other man a negro, too, who went out with him?"

"Oh, no, he's an Indian from the Bear River Reservation. If you go that way, you must be sure to visit it."

"I hope that we are going there, for I hear that Bear River is a beautiful place. Though I am not particularly anxious to see the Micmac on his native heath, it certainly is interesting to have met representatives of the four race elements in this little shop," said Amy, as they turned away.

"Four race elements?" asked Martine, not quite understanding her.

"Yes, of Nova Scotia Loyalists, Acadians, Indians, and negroes. To be sure Pre-Loyalists would be more representative than negroes--but the former did not settle Digby."

"Let's go up on Cannon Hill for a last look. Your mother just loves it.

We have made some fine sketches of those crooked apple-trees and that old house."

"And the cannon? They are certainly unlike any others you will come across."

"I have photographed the cannon," replied Martine, with dignity, "and if I had time, I might sketch them."

"I love it here," cried Martine, as they stood on the hill. "One gets such a splendid view of the entrance to the Basin,--I can't bring myself to say Gut. When I stand here, I just close my eyes, and then fancy how these steep sh.o.r.es must have looked to the Frenchmen, Champlain and the others, who came sailing in through the pa.s.sage that June morning so long ago. Then when I open my eyes I can actually see them out there--and if I were a poet, like you, Amy, I would write something worth while."

"I a poet! what nonsense! What put that into your head?"

"As if I didn't know all about you, Miss Amy Redmond," and Martine quoted a line or two of verse that brought the color to Amy's cheeks.

"That isn't poetry," she said with a smile. "But you are in a mood that shows me we ought to go home."

CHAPTER VIII

TWO ADVENTURES

"Oh dear," sighed Priscilla three hours later, as she strapped her valise, "I believe I'd rather stay in one place all summer than move so often. I shall miss the pier and the barnacles. When we came in from the boat at low tide the other day, it seemed like one of the caverns of fairyland--so dark and mysterious."

"Yes, and you'll miss the codfish, too. Amy and I have been going through the missing agony this morning. But I have a fish story that will please you, Puritan Prissie. Though curing codfish is a leading occupation here six days of the week, on Sunday that man is fined who even sticks a pitchfork into a helpless cod--except,--and here I am afraid that this covers a quant.i.ty,--that if there has been a week of wet weather, if Sunday is sunny, then the gentle codfish may be turned over. This is merely a humane provision for the comfort of the cod, who otherwise would become unduly weary lying so long on one side."

"We shall become unduly weary waiting for you," cried Amy, who had entered the room during the latter part of Martine's speech. "I hope that you are both ready, for it is almost train time."

"All aboard then," cried Martine. "If my hat is on straight, nothing need delay us. Let me help you with your valise, Priscilla. My luggage has gone on."

When they reached the station Mrs. Redmond and her party found that after all they had some time to spare. At five minutes past the hour they took their seats. "Standard time, Halifax time, hotel time, local time," hummed Martine. "I wonder which we're starting by."

Presently the conductor walked along the station platform to the little waiting-room, and from the open window they heard him speak to some one inside.

"Have you made up your minds yet, ladies, about going?" he asked in a polite tone.

"Oh, gracious, yes," exclaimed a shrill voice. "We were waiting for the bell;" and two elderly women hurried toward the train with their knitting in their hands. Amy had noticed them busily knitting there, in a corner, when she pa.s.sed. It seemed, by the conductor's subsequent explanation, that knowing they were uncertain whether to go by that train 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 pa.s.sage over some wonderful bridges, beyond which was a great extent of water, and after a drive of five or six miles, they found themselves gazing down at picturesque Bear River. The beautiful town sloped to a broad stream, its white houses and spires half hidden by trees.