Part 4

There was an hour to spare before it was time to dress for dinner, and the girls spent it wandering around the Public Gardens. A rambling stream, stone bridges, duck ponds filled with water fowl, immense trees, great flower beds of all shapes in which are blended, in striking color combinations, blossoms of all kinds, make it a most attractive place to spend hours; and the girls heartily regretted that time would not permit them to linger.

“But it is just as well we did not have any more time to walk about the gardens,” said Jeanette, as they were preparing for bed. “I am tired to death now.”

“I am too,” replied Nancy; “but I do hope that the bell buoy in the harbor does not keep me awake to-night. Even in my sleep I heard that monotonous ‘ding-dong’ last night.”

“Well, try to sleep anyhow,” advised Jeanette; “for to-morrow will be our biggest day——”

“Oh, yes,” cried Martha, “to-morrow we see Evangeline——”

Then, as a laugh interrupted her, she went on indignantly, “I don’t know why you all laugh every time I open my mouth. I’m not going to say another word!”

“Until next time,” called Nancy, as Martha went into her own room.

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE LAND OF EVANGELINE*

“We have an addition to our party to-day,” said Jim when they went out to the bus the following morning.

“Who?” inquired Nancy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bond, ardent collectors of antiques. They go only as far as Kentville, however.”

The newcomers proved to be a very interesting, middle-aged couple, full of information on many subjects besides their hobby, and a real asset on any sight-seeing trip.

“Isn’t it queer,” commented Nancy after they had ridden for a few miles, “how we are sort of on the outside trying to look in?”

“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Martha. “On the outside of what, looking in?”

“Why, it’s difficult to explain clearly; but we’re riding through this country peering at everything and trying to guess what the people are like from what we see. It is rather trying to complete a picture with many of the principal parts missing. If you know what I mean,” she laughed a little confusedly, seeing plainly from Martha’s expression that she, for one, didn’t know.

But the driver smiled understandingly at Nancy. He knew what she was trying to say. Long ere this she had discovered that Jim was a senior at Harvard, and drove a bus only during the summer vacation. He had been desperately lonely in this country, where he knew no one; and the pretty, lively college girl was a godsend.

“One thing we can be reasonably sure of,” commented Miss Ashton, “is their fondness for flowers. The front windows of so many of the houses are filled with plants, so arranged that the blossoms reach to the very top of the panes.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said Jeanette, “and in one house the cellar windows were also filled. Indoors they use mostly geraniums; and they seem to be splendid specimens. What a task it must be to attend to all those plants!”

“Even the poorest looking dwelling has its garden; and if there is a stump or unsightly rock, it is surrounded with nasturtiums,” said Mrs. Bond. “Those bits of bright color, dropped carelessly here and there, are very effective in this land of green trees and gray houses.”

“I wonder why all the houses are that peculiar dull gray,” said Martha. “They look positively ashen.”

“They are built of shingles and whitewashed,” explained Jim. “The whitewash wears off, and leaves the house a dirty gray. And, by the way, you will notice that many of the houses are shingled on one or two sides, and finished with clapboards on the others. Why, I don’t know, I’m sorry to say.”

“To return to the subject of flowers,” said Mrs. Bond, “we have been wondering if the people’s love of them is not a kind of a reflection of the land itself. I have never seen so many kinds and such quantities of wild flowers.”

“That is true,” agreed Miss Ashton. “We have been reveling especially in the profusion of wild roses along the roads.”

“They tell me,” said Jim, turning slightly toward Mrs. Bond, “that in the proper season there are such quantities of arbutus here, or Mayflower as some call it, that it has been adopted as the emblem of Nova Scotia, along with the motto, ‘We bloom amid the snows.’ It is gathered and sold in all public places; and everybody wears or carries some as long as it lasts. Every office, they say, every store, every house has its bouquet of arbutus.”

“What a pretty custom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bond.

“This is Windsor,” said the driver, as they entered a lovely town on the river Avon. “It was an Acadian village; and at Fort Edward, which was built after the country fell into the hands of the British, were drawn up the plans for the expulsion of the Acadians.”

They drove up the lovely wooded slopes where King’s College was established in 1787, and where it continued as the oldest colonial university in the British Empire until very recently, when it was removed to Halifax. A private school for boys still uses the original chapel for its religious exercises.

“A most famous judge of Nova Scotia, Thomas Haliburton by name,” went on the driver as they left the old buildings behind, “was also quite an author, under the nom de plume of Sam Slick. His best known book is called ‘The Clock Maker.’ It is regarded as a classic, and its humor is said to rival that of Dickens himself in the Pickwick Papers. This is his house, which we are approaching, and where he wrote his books. It is known as the ‘Sam Slick House’ and is open to the public.”

The party was met at the low porch (upon which was an old-fashioned scraper for removing mud from one’s shoes) by the hostess, a charming woman, who showed them through the house. The living room, into which the outside door opened, was paneled in oak halfway to the ceiling, and upon it were hung various old-fashioned articles.

“What is this for?” asked Nancy, examining a covered brass pan, at the end of a long wooden handle.

“That is a warming pan,” explained the hostess. “They used to put hot coals inside, and run the pan under the bedclothes a few times to take the chill off the sheets before one went to bed in severe weather. You know in those days there was no steam heat; and most bedrooms were entirely unheated.”

“And this, please?” asked Jeanette, fingering a metal plate which seemed to be double, with a small lip-like opening at one side.

“That? You put hot water in there,” pointing to the opening, “and set plates on it to keep warm.”

They gazed admiringly at the lovely gate-legged tables, fire screen, hunting prints, and numerous other treasures; and then, through a door at the back of the room, entered a narrow hall which ran across the width of the house. On the opposite side opened the dining room, where one may order refreshments, and the library where the judge’s bookcases and desk are still standing. The woodwork of the hall was all painted in the peculiar Acadian blue; and from either end of the hall, there was a staircase leading to the rooms of the second floor.

“The judge built this house himself,” said the hostess, as they crossed the oval rugs of braided blue and green straw, and went up the quaint narrow stairs, “and he thought the rooms upstairs should be entirely separate; so here are the ones on the right side of the house. But you will have to go down again, and up the stairs at the other end of the hall, to get to the rooms on the left of the house.”

“How very funny!” exclaimed Nancy, as they peered into the cretonne-hung rooms, with their casement windows opening into the very tree tops, their four-poster beds, and old-fashioned pictures. In one room, apparently occupied by some favored individual, there was a tiny air-tight stove.

“Here is something I didn’t notice when we came up,” said Mrs. Bond, stopping on the landing on their way down, before a tall grandfather’s clock.

The place was a veritable treasure trove for anyone interested in antiques, and she and her husband were just reveling in their finds, examining every article closely, and showing that their hobby was no mere pose. They had a genuine love for old things.

“And here is another kind,” said her husband, pointing to the opposite wall, where hung a big, round clock with heavy weights dangling from it.

“Now, that’s just the kind of clock I always imagined the mouse must have run up,” cried Nancy, “although I never saw one before.”

“The mouse?” repeated Martha, in a puzzled tone. “What mouse?”

Nancy laughed.

“Why the one in the old rhyme, ‘Hickery-dickory-dock; the mouse ran up the clock.’”

Mr. and Mrs. Bond exchanged glances of tolerant amusement. If there were many college girls like the ones in this party, modern college girls were not so bad after all.

“Here is a place we didn’t see,” said Miss Ashton, stepping into a small room with deep, orange-colored walls. “What a perfectly _wonderful_ rug! Look here, girls!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Nancy, plopping down on the floor beside a magnificent white bearskin that was spread before a mammoth fireplace, and stroking the head delightedly.

“My nephew, who is a member of the Royal Mounted Police, shot the bear in the polar regions, and sent it to me,” said the hostess.

They could hardly get Nancy away from it, and it was with great reluctance that all of them left the attractive house and shaded lawns, where gay tables and striped umbrellas made one long for a cup of tea, even at ten o’clock in the morning.

“I’m going to get hold of the ‘Sam Slick’ books as soon as we get back,” asserted Nancy.

“Won’t it be fun to recognize the parts of the house mentioned in some of the books?” Jeanette agreed that it would, and notation was made of another thing to do “when they got home.”

“Just west of here,” said the driver, “on the edge of the Basin of Minas, lies the great marsh meadow known as Grand Pré. Minas opens into the Bay of Fundy, and is guarded by Cape Blomidon, both of which Longfellow mentions in his famous poem. You will notice the red mud flats on the banks of the river on this side of Nova Scotia,” he continued, as they drove across a quaint covered bridge. “They are all influenced by the famous double tides of the Bay of Fundy. Twice every twenty-four hours the tide, or ‘bore,’ as it is sometimes called, rushes into Fundy. The Avon River, for example, has a rise of thirty-four feet. When the tide is out, the river banks are a mass of red mud, veined by little trickles of water; when the tide comes in, with a mighty rush, all the banks are covered.”

They soon stopped before the little house guarding the Acadian Memorial Park, which is in the center of the old Acadian village immortalized by Longfellow. A descendant of the Acadians has charge of this little building, where a few souvenirs are sold, and where the services of a guide may be obtained. Standing in the doorway which opens into the park itself, one sees a vast stretch of meadow land, dotted with magnificent flower beds; a chapel, a statue, and a row of willows showing up in the distance.

“This,” said Mrs. Bond, who was elected to act as guide, since the young man who performed that office was busy with another party, “is the site of the meadows which the Acadians protected from the inroads of the sea with dikes, so built that at certain seasons enough water could be let in for irrigation purposes.”

Past beds containing flowers blended and contrasted as only the Nova Scotians know how to arrange them, our party finally stopped beside the stone well, known as “Evangeline’s well,” from which the inhabitants of the old village of Grand Pré obtained their water supply.

“Is there any water in it?” inquired Nancy, peering into its mossy depths, and gratified to see water not very far down.

“Be careful, Nan. Your purse!” cried Jeanette; but she spoke just too late. Nancy had laid it on the top of the curb a few minutes before, while Martha took a picture of them gathered about the well. She had neglected to pick it up again, and shoved it off when she leaned over the edge.

They heard a faint splash, and looked at one another in dismay; then Martha burst out laughing.

“I’m—really—terribly—sorry for you, Nan,” she said, “but you seem to be as unlucky with your pocketbook on this trip as I am with falls. We’ll have to beware of the fateful third time!”

“Was there much in it, Nan?” asked Jeanette.

“Oh, no,” said Nancy carelessly. “Just a couple of dollars. You know I’m always losing pocketbooks; so I never carry much in them. Anyway, it’s gone; and we’re not going to let it spoil our day.”

They wandered on to the small chapel of Norman architecture, built on the exact site of the original chapel of St. Charles, of which Longfellow says:

“And lo! with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, And over the meadows a drum beat, Thronged erelong was the church with men.”

In time, this little building is to house books, documents, and household articles of the French Acadians.

Halfway down the meadow, opposite the chapel, stands a bronze statue of an idealized Evangeline.

“This is the work of Henri Hebert,” said Mrs. Bond, “one of Canada’s foremost sculptors, and a direct descendant of the Grand Pré French.”

They all felt very serious as they gazed up at the rather sad figure, looking backward upon the land she loved so dearly; and then strolled down toward the row of willows which lined the street of Grand Pré. They then followed a narrow, winding stream to a pond upon which floated ducks among the lily pads.

“Do you suppose they’d let me pet them?” said Nancy, leaning down to touch one which seemed tamer than the rest.

“Be careful—” began Jeanette, just as Nan’s foot slipped on the grass, and she slid, headfirst, into the water, creating great consternation among the inhabitants of the pool, as well as among the spectators.

Nancy was a funny looking creature as she stepped from the pond, and Martha was once more overcome with laughter.

“You got the third fall, Nan,” she cried; “now I’ll have to lose the third pocketbook.”

“Don’t count on that!” retorted Nancy.

“Better watch your step just the same.”

“What in the world shall we do with you, Nan?” asked Jeanette, obviously worried.

“I’ll go back to the bus with her,” offered Miss Ashton, “and get her bag. Probably there is some place in the gatehouse where she can change her things. Fortunately, it is quite warm; so she is not likely to take cold in the meantime.”

They hurried on ahead, and the others followed in leisurely fashion, stopping often to examine the flowers. There were so many unusual kinds that the collection would have been a delight to any student of botany.

When they reached the bus, Nancy, in dry garments, was waiting for them. Jim stood near by, teasing her about her fondness for ducks; a fondness, he said, strong enough to induce her to seek their habitat.

“I know one thing,” said Martha, as they climbed into the bus, “I’m going to reread _Evangeline_ as soon as I get home. It will be so much more interesting after seeing the place.”

*CHAPTER VII*

*EN ROUTE TO DIGBY*

“We still in the country of Evangeline,” said Jim, as they entered Wolfville, three miles beyond Grand Pré. “From here, one may sail across the Basin of Minas over the very course taken by the Acadians on their way into exile. Cape Blomidon’s purple head, thrust far out into the basin, acts as a barrier to fog and storm, thus keeping this region especially suitable for fruit raising. The Micmac Indians believe that Glooscap lives on Blomidon.”

“Glooscap?” inquired Nancy.

“A supernatural hero, something like the Grecian Hercules.”

“Oh! I wish we could see it!” cried Martha. “Who, the hero?” asked Jim.

“Of course not! I’m not so stupid. I mean Cape Blomidon. Then we could gather amethysts for ourselves.”

“Can’t you be satisfied with your souvenir of Captain Kidd?” asked Jim, with a sidewise glance at Nancy.

“Y—es. I suppose so.”

They lunched at Kentville, and bade a very reluctant farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Bond; then drove for miles through the famous orchard lands of the Annapolis and Cornwallis Valleys.

“The most celebrated apple district in the world,” said Jim, indicating with a wave of his hand the endless rows of trees beside the road, “though few people seem to know it. Here are raised many of the finest apples which we eat in the States, especially the Northern Spy.”

Past miles of orchards, and through many little towns they sped, until they reached Annapolis Royal.

“This is the old Port Royal, capital of French Acadia, and founded in 1604—the first permanent European settlement in America after St. Augustine,” said Jim. “Nova Scotia boasts of being first in several ways: The first mill was built here; the first conversion to Christianity took place here; the first Canadian song, written in honor of Champlain; the first play written and staged in North America; and last, but most interesting, the first social club.

“During the winter of 1606-7,” he went on, “Champlain instituted the ‘Order of the Good Time’ to which fifteen leading Frenchmen belonged. For a single day each member was hailed by the rest as Grand Master, and wore a splendid collar while he acted as host to the others. The Grand Master provided dinner and entertainment, and each man tried to surpass his predecessors. The old Indian chief was always an honored guest, and many of his tribe shared in the merrymaking. At the end, all smoked the pipe of peace. When the English captured the town, its name was changed to Annapolis Royal, in honor of Queen Anne.”

The bus rolled up the hill to the Park, which is on the site of the old ramparts of Fort Anne; and stopped before a long, quaint building, with three great chimneys.

“This was the officers’ quarters, built in 1798,” explained Jim; “and over on the other side of the Park you can see the remains of the powder magazine, and some of the fortifications, half buried in the embankment. There are thirty fireplaces in this building, and many rooms filled with curios well worth inspecting.”

A little, white-haired old man of military bearing took them through the building, and explained the exhibits. He marshaled and directed the sight-seers like a crowd of children, and insisted upon absolute quiet while he talked. Not a finger did they dare lay upon any article, and not a move could they make in any direction until he gave the signal.

Martha leaned over and whispered some comment to Nancy, and immediately the guide fixed his piercing eyes upon her severely, and said, “I shall have to ask you to refrain from talking during my lecture. I _cannot_ tell about these things when anyone else is talking.”

Martha shrank back, filled with confusion; and after that episode no one of the whole party ventured even the briefest remark.

In the narrow hall is displayed a collection of cuts of coats of arms, a treasure to anyone interested in the development of heraldry. In one of the rooms there is a collection of coins, covering all types used in Nova Scotia since the first settlement. Another is given over mostly to souvenirs of the World War, seeming a bit out of place amidst the relative antiques of the other rooms. Still another contains various pieces of firearms during the different sieges of the Fort. The guide displayed also, as one of his choicest bits, the immense key to the fort, handed over to the English general by the French commander in the last siege, and until recently in the hands of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

But the girls found most interesting of all, the Acadian room, taken intact from an Acadian house, and rebuilt into its present setting. It is simplicity itself, and takes one back in spirit to those delightfully simple people whom Longfellow has made so well known. The floor is bare, and the woodwork painted Acadian blue; and on the walls are a few holy pictures, and a couple of rifles. At one side of the fireplace with its andirons and swinging crane, stands a wooden cradle with a hood at one end; and on the other side is the spinning wheel. The chairs have seats made of strips of deerskin, woven in and out. “Just like the mats we made out of paper in the kindergarten,” said Nancy. One of the oddest articles in the room is a table which one can transform into a chair or a cupboard by the proper manipulation of the leaves. On the door is the old wooden latch, and the guide explained that if this were an outside door, the latchstring would be drawn in at night, after which no one could open the door from the outside.

“So that,” exclaimed Nancy in delightful enthusiasm, forgetting the rule of silence, “is where we get our expression ‘our latchstring is always out for you.’ I’ve wondered about that ever since I first heard it.”

“Don’t you feel just as if you had been let out from school?” asked Martha, as they left the building and walked across the Park to take a look at the powder magazine.

“Yes; wasn’t he strict?” answered Jeanette. “But he certainly knows his exhibits. And how he loves them, and everything connected with Nova Scotia!”

It was difficult to tear themselves away from the interesting old place, but Jim said they would have to be going in order to get to Digby in proper time.

“This town,” he said, as they entered Bear River, some miles beyond Annapolis Royal, “is celebrated for its Cherry Carnival. In the middle of July, hundreds of tourists and natives come here to feast upon cherries and witness a series of thrilling aquatic events. The Indians from a near-by reservation take part in the birch bark canoe and log rolling contests, and usually carry off many of the prizes.”

“Um!” said Martha. “I’d like to be here then. I just love cherries.”

The car now followed the curving shores of the Annapolis Basin toward Digby. This is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The purplish North Mountain range rises abruptly from the opposite bank of the Annapolis River, and one passes through miles of a picture book world—farms, quaint tiny villages, deep woods, rivers, hills, lovely summer homes guarded by tall fir trees, log cabin colonies, until the long bridge which leads into Digby is reached.

“Out there,” said Jim, pointing across Digby Basin, “is what they call Digby Gut. It was properly named Digby Gap; but, according to the story, the fishermen, after they had completed their catch, always stopped out there to clean the fish, throwing the refuse into the water; and from that comes the inelegant name which the gap now bears. The gap is formed by a mile wide break in the North Mountain range, and through that mountain gate, which the Indians call ‘Tee-wee-den,’ or ‘little hole,’ rush the great floods of the Bay of Fundy, twice every twenty-four hours. They fill the basin, the rivers, and all their tributaries to the very top of the diked embankments for a distance of over forty miles.”

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, while Miss Ashton quoted from Longfellow:

“Oh, faithful, indefatigable tides That ever more, upon God’s errands go, Now seaward, hearing tidings of the land, Now landward, bearing tidings of the sea, And filling every firth and estuary, Each arm of the great sea, each little creek, Each thread and filament of water course, Full with your ministrations of delight!”

“How perfectly that description suits this part of the country,” said Nancy appreciatively.

They drove up the wooded hill to the big hotel, surrounded by cottages of various sizes. One of these was assigned to Miss Ashton and her party; and they took possession at once, for dinner time was fast approaching.

“What a darling place!” cried Nancy, inspecting the two bedrooms, bath, and living room.

“I like this room best,” said Jeanette, standing in the living room with its big fireplace, cretonne hangings, and wonderful view of the basin into which extended the long government pier from which you may sail to St. John, New Brunswick.