Piles of
lumber, the harvest of the forest, lay on the ground. The women
breathed long and deeply the invigorating odor which hangs like incense
over freshly hewn wood. They drank the bubbling waters of the Jesuits'
well, and wandered about the salt marshes, Victor going ahead with a
forked stick in case the rattlesnake should object to their progress.
Madame was in great spirits. She laughed and sang snatches of song.
Never had Victor seen her more blithe.
"And it was here that Hiawatha came with his white canoe!" she cried;
and tried to conjure up a picture of a venerable Indian with white hair.
"Yes," said Brother Jacques, but without enthusiasm. He could never
hear again that name without experiencing the keenest pain and chagrin.
"Do not look so sad, Brother Jacques," Anne requested. "The terrible
journey is over, and you were not to blame."
Brother Jacques looked out over the water. It was the journey to come
which appalled him. Ah, but that journey which was past! Were he but
free from these encumbering robes; were he but a man like the poet or
the Chevalier! Alas, Brother Jacques!
"Victor," said madame, on the return to the palisade, "stay with me as
much as possible.
Pages:
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480