A Little Girl in Old Quebec Part 25

When they started, a salute was fired. He was leaving his new fort but half completed.

"Who was that pretty young girl who kept so close to the Heberts?"

Eustache Boulle asked his sister. "There, talking to that group of Indian women."

"Oh, that is M. Destournier's ward. Surely, you saw her when you first came here, though she was but a child then. A foundling, it seems. Good Father Jamay was quite urgent that she should be sent home, and spend some years in a convent."

"And she refused? She looks like it. Oh, yes, I remember the child."

"Beauty is a great snare where there is a wayward will," sighed the devoted Helene. "It is no country for young girls of the better cla.s.s.

Though no one knows to what cla.s.s she really belongs."

Eustache fell into a dream. What a bright attractive child she had been. How could he have forgotten her? He was two-and-twenty now, and his man's heart had been stirred by her beauty.

If Rose was not so much of a devote she began to make herself useful to many of the Indian converts who missed their dear lady. To keep their houses tidy, to learn a little about the useful side of gardening, and how their crops must be tended, to insure the best results. The children could be set to do much of this.

Quebec fell back to its natural state. There was no more carousing along the river, no drunken men wrangling in the booths, no affrays. Rose could ramble about as she liked, and she felt like a prisoner set free.

Madame Destournier was better, and each day took a sail upon the river, which seemed to strengthen her greatly. Presently they would spend a fortnight at the new settlement, Mont Real. Many things were left in the hands of M. Destournier, and his own affairs had greatly increased.

One afternoon Rose had espied a branch of purple plums, that no one had touched, on a great tree that had had s.p.a.ce and sun, but fruited only on the southern side. No stick or stone could dislodge them. How tempting they looked, in their rich, melting sheen.

"I must have some," she said, eyeing the size of the trunk, the smooth bark, and the distance before there was any limb. Then she considered.

Finding a crotched stick, a limb that had been broken off in some high wind, she caught it in the lowest branch and gently pulled it down until she grasped it with her hand.

Yes, it was tough. She swung to it. Then she felt her way up cautiously, like a cat, and when she swung near enough, caught one arm around the tree trunk. It was a hard scramble, but she stood upon it triumphantly.

It bore her weight, yet she must go higher, for she could not reach the temptingly-laden limb. Now and then a branch swayed--if she had her stick up here that she had dropped so disdainfully when she had captured the limb.

"It is a good thing to be sure you will not want what you fling away,"

she said to herself, sententiously.

"Aha!" She had caught the limb and drew it in carefully. There she sat, queen of a solitary feast. Were ever plums so luscious! Some of the ripest fell to the ground and smashed, making cones of golden red, with a tiny cap of purple at the top.

In the old Latin book she still dipped into occasionally there were descriptions of orchards laden with fruit that made the air around fragrant. She could imagine herself there.

In that country there were G.o.ds everywhere, by the streams, where one named Pan played on pipes. What were pipes that could emit music? The nooks hid them. The zephyrs repeated their songs and laments.

There was a swift dazzle and a bird lighted on the branch above her, and poured out such a melodious warble that she was entranced. A bird from some other tree answered. Ah! what delight to eat her fill to measures of sweetest music, and she suddenly joined in.

The young fellow who had been following a beaten path paused in amaze.

Was it a human voice? It broke off into a clear, beautiful whistle that, striking against a ledge of rock, rebounded in an echo. He crept along on the soft gra.s.s, where the underbrush had some time been fired. The tree was swaying to and fro, and a shower of fruit came to the ground.

He drew nearer and then he espied the dryad. From one point he could see a girl, sitting in superb unconcern. Was it the one he had been searching for diligently the last hour? How had she been able to perch herself up there?

Presently she had taken her fill of the fruit, of swinging daintily to and fro, of watching the sun-beams play hide-and-seek among the distant fir trees, that held black nooks in their shade, of studying with intense ecstasy the wonderful colors gathering around the setting sun, for which she had no name, but that always seemed as if set to some wondrous music. Every pulse stirred within her, making life itself sweet.

She stepped down on the lower limb. It would be rather rough to slide down the tree trunk, but she had not minded it in her childhood. The other way she had often tried as well. She held on to the limb above, and walked out on hers, until it began to sway so that she could hardly balance herself. Then she gave one spring, and almost came down in the young man's arms.

She righted herself in a moment, and stared at him. There was something familiar in the soft eyes, in the general contour of the face.

"You do not remember me!"

"Let me think," she said, with a calmness that amused him. "Yes, it comes to me. I saw you on the boat that conveyed Madame de Champlain.

You are her brother."

"Eustache Boulle, at your service," and he bowed gracefully. "But I did not know you, Mam'selle. You were such a child four years ago. Even then you made an impression upon me."

She was so little used to compliments that it did not stir her in the slightest. She was wondering, and at length she said--

"How did you find me?"

"By hard searching, Mam'selle. I saw your foster-mother--I believe she is that--and she gave me a graphic description of your wanderings. I paused here because the beauty of the place attracted me. And I heard a voice I knew must be human, emulating the birds, so I drew nearer. Will you forgive me when I confess I rifled your store? What plums these are!

I did not know that Canada could produce anything so utterly delicious.

We have some wild sour ones that get dried and made eatable in the winter, when other things are scarce. And the Indians make a queer-tasting drink out of them."

"I found this tree quite by accident. I never saw it before, and if you will look, there are only two branches that have any fruit. The other side of the tree is barren. And that high branch will give the birds a feast. I do not think I could venture up there," laughing.

"I wondered how you ventured at all. And how you dared come down that way."

His eyes expressed the utmost admiration.

"Oh," she answered carelessly, "that was an old trick of mine, my childhood's delight. I used to try how far I could walk out before the limb would give me warning."

"But if it had broken?"

"Why, I should have jumped, all the same. You did not go with your sister and M. de Champlain."

"I had half a mind to, then I reconsidered."

She met his gaze calmly, as if she was wondering a little what had prevented him.

"And I came to Quebec. It begins to grow. But we want something beside Indians. M. Destournier has settled quite a plantation of them, and my sister has believed in their conversion. But when one knows them well--he has not so much faith in them. They are apt to revert to the original belief, crude superst.i.tions."

"It is hard to believe," the girl said slowly.

"That depends. Some beliefs are very pleasant and appeal to the heart."

"But is it of real service to G.o.d that one rolls in a bed of thorns, or walks barefoot over sharp stones, or kneels all night on a hard, cold floor? There are so many beautiful things in the world, and G.o.d has made them----"

"As a snare, the priest will tell you. Mam'selle, thou hast not been made for a devotee. It would be a great loss to one man if thou shouldst bury all these charms in a convent."

"I do not know any man who would grieve," she made answer indifferently.

"But you might," and a peculiar smile settled about his lips.

"I am going to take home as many of these plums as I can carry. Madame Destournier is not well, and has a great longing for different things. I found some splendid berries yesterday which she ate with a relish.

Sickness gives one many desires. I am glad I am always well. At least I was never ill but once, and that was long ago."

She sprang up and began to look about her. "If I could find some large leaves----"

"I will fill my pockets."