Part 5

“You had better postpone your raptures,” suggested Miss Ashton practically, “if we are all to bathe and dress for dinner. I understand that this is a very fashionable place, and we want to look our best.”

“I want to ask you something,” said Nancy, detaining Miss Ashton as she prepared to follow the girls who were on their way to the bedrooms.

“Yes?”

“Jim asked me to go to the dance at the hotel for a while to-night.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said I’d ask you and let him know later.”

“Well, why don’t you go? He is a very nice boy; and, by the way, I forgot to tell you that I had quite a long talk with him the other day and we have some mutual acquaintances.”

“But what about the other girls? Jeanette won’t mind, I’m sure; but I don’t feel so positive about Martha.”

“She is certainly sensible enough to know that the boy couldn’t be expected to take three girls to a dance. I’ll think up some way to fix things.”

Miss Ashton was much pleased with Nancy’s deference to her opinions. She had chaperoned other girls who had shown far less consideration.

“Thanks a lot,” cried Nancy, running happily off to dress for dinner.

At the table in the big dining room, filled with beautifully dressed people, Miss Ashton decided, after looking about, that her girls looked just as pretty as any of the other young people. Nancy was a picture in the old rose chiffon, with her dark brown fashionably bobbed hair, deep dimples, and dancing brown eyes. Jeanette, demure and dainty, was in the blue and silver which blended so well with her blond hair and blue eyes. The gypsy-like Martha was gay in unrelieved scarlet.

“Nancy has been invited to dance this evening,” began Miss Ashton, while they were waiting for the soup.

“Oh, how nice!” said Jeanette. “Jim?”

Nancy nodded.

“I thought it might be fun, if you all agree,” continued Miss Ashton, “to take a taxi uptown and look about a bit. Then perhaps when we get back, Nancy and Jim will be ready to join us at the cottage.”

“A good idea,” agreed Jeanette.

“And we might have a game of bridge,” proposed Martha, who had succeeded in stifling her bit of envy; for she _did_ love to dance.

“Fine!” said Nancy heartily. “We’ll go over to the cottage as soon as you get back.”

Shortly after they left the dining room, Jim came in search of Nancy; and the others departed in a taxi, with long heavy coats over their evening clothes.

They prowled about the little town of Digby, buying post cards, stamps, etc., and seemed to have about exhausted the possibility of purchases, when Martha exclaimed:

“Let’s buy some funny prizes for our bridge party!”

“Oh, let’s,” agreed Jeanette, entering a little store in the window of which various souvenirs were displayed, Miss Ashton and Martha following.

It was difficult to make a selection; for they wanted a prize for each which would be particularly suited to its recipient; and by turns each had to withdraw while her prize was being bought. At last, however, they were ready to return to the hotel, when Martha cried:

“We haven’t any lunch for the party! And what’s a party without a lunch!”

Jeanette laughed; but Miss Ashton replied:

“I’ll surprise you. I planned that part of it long ago.”

When they got back to the cottage they found Nancy and Jim sitting on the tiny front porch looking at the moon above the tall pines shining down upon the little village and the pier with the lighthouse at the end.

“There was such a crowd that we didn’t care to stay any longer,” explained Nancy, as they all went into the living room.

The fireman had been in, and now a cheerful wood fire was dancing in the fireplace. They drew the table close to the hearth, for there was a chill in the air as soon as the sun went down, and settled themselves for card playing.

At about eleven o’clock, Miss Ashton, who had been watching the game, suggested counting up the scores.

“We bought some prizes,” she announced, “and they will now be awarded.”

She had taken the opportunity, while the young people were occupied, to wrap and label the articles which she now laid before each one.

“You had the highest score, Jim,” said Nancy, “so you open yours first.”

He slowly untied a box, and from it drew forth a toy automobile, while the girls exclaimed at its appropriateness.

“It winds up and runs, I think,” said Nancy, examining it closely.

“Take it right away from her,” said Martha. “If she gets fussing with a mechanical toy, it’s good night to everything else.”

Jim put his big hand over it, and Nancy surrendered the toy without protest.

“Now yours, Nan,” said Jim.

A toy duck emerged from her package, and Jim shouted with laughter.

“Oh!” she cried, delightedly, “it quacks!” as she accidentally pressed a spring in its neck.

Martha’s prize was a purse labeled, “For Captain Kidd’s coin.”

“Lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’ll put it right in.”

Jeanette received a small clothes brush, for she was always fussing about dust; and then Martha and Jeanette together presented Miss Ashton with a small basket filled with tiny dolls, and bearing a label “Some of your protégées.”

“She is always taking some girl under her wing,” exclaimed Nancy to Jim.

“I did not have much time or many opportunities for providing an elaborate lunch for this party,” said Miss Ashton, after the prizes had been examined and laid aside; “but I did my best.”

She laid a paper lunch cloth on the table, and in the center placed a big box of delicious looking chocolates and bonbons which she had bought in Boston.

“Don’t start on those,” she directed, as she added a box filled with fancy English cookies which she had picked up in Halifax, and not opened before.

“Now as soon as the boy brings over the coffee which I ordered from the hotel, we can begin.”

He soon appeared with a big tray of cups, spoons, sugar, cream, and pots of steaming coffee.

“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed food so much,” said Jim, after they had finished, and were clearing up. “One gets awfully tired of the regular hotel menus.”

“I’ll bet I never would,” said Martha. “Anyhow, I’d like to try it until I did.”

“Which would not be long,” finished Nancy.

“Now, folks,” said Miss Ashton, “much as I hate to break up this delightful party, it is nearly midnight, and we have to take to the road again in the morning.”

They hastily said good night, and Jim went off to his quarters with a backward glance at the window which framed Nancy’s rose-colored loveliness.

“If you hear me holler during the night,” said Martha, “you’ll know that someone reached in this window and grabbed my feet.”

The girls laughed; but after they were settled in the twin beds on either side of their own room, Nancy asked Jeanette rather hesitatingly:

“Do you suppose anyone would?”

“Would what?”

“Reach in these windows.”

“Of course not! There are other cottages all around us, and the grounds are doubtless patrolled during the night.”

“Just the same,” persisted Nancy, “I don’t like sleeping in a little cottage with windows so close to the ground.”

“Wait until you go to Yellowstone, as you are always talking of, you’ll sleep in a cabin there.”

The next thing they knew, the sun was shining brightly, and Miss Ashton was calling:

“Hustle, girls! It’s after seven, and we leave at eight thirty!”

They dressed and packed in a hurry, and crossed the gravel path to the hotel. When they reached the top of the stone steps leading to the terrace, they paused to admire the view. The water of the Basin was calm and blue; the sky crossed by bands of brilliant light; and the surrounding mountain ranges were a bit misty.

“This view is said to resemble the one across the Bay of Naples,” said Miss Ashton, as they reluctantly continued on their way to the dining room.

“It is a lovely place,” said Nancy, when they were once more in the bus, and rolling past the brilliant flower beds, tall pine and spruce trees, and out upon the main road. “I had a good time here, and I rather hate to leave.”

“I hate to think that our trip is almost over,” said Jim, so softly that none of the others heard him.

Nancy made no reply; but there was a queer little feeling of sadness at the idea of leaving this lovely land behind.

“That long strip of land to the right,” said Jim presently, “is Digby Neck; and it separates the Bay of Fundy from St. Mary’s Bay which we shall follow for many miles.”

“Isn’t this where the Acadians settled when some of them returned from exile?” asked Miss Ashton.

“Yes; their houses are strung all along this Bay; and sometimes it is hard to tell when one leaves one village, and enters, the next. Some have only half a dozen houses; others a larger number. These people still speak French, and retain all the customs of their ancestors, one of which is the constant dividing and redividing of their long narrow farms among their children and grandchildren.”

“There are few signs of life around the houses,” commented Jeanette. “I should think farmers would have to be up and at work before this time.”

“On an ordinary day they would,” said Jim; “but I understand that this is one of their Holy Days. They are a very religious people, you know, and not a stroke of work is done on a Holy Day any more than on a Sunday. We shall presently meet them all going to church.”

Sure enough, as they entered Weymouth, they saw conveyances of all kinds gathered about the church; and along the dusty roads toward it plodded old and young. One man was pushing a baby carriage containing a very young child, while his wife followed, leading one about three or four years old by the hand. A rough box wagon passed filled with children of all ages, sitting on the floor. Another cart had heavy boards laid across it for seats, all occupied by men, women, and children.

“This is Church Point,” said Jim, “and the spire of St. Mary’s Church, situated on the point, rises over two hundred feet and can be seen by every vessel nearing the shore. From far out on the water the sailors look for the cross on the top of the spire.”

Here too the church was surrounded by vehicles, and many people were approaching it from all directions.

Some miles farther on, Jim added:

“In this town, the church is unfinished; and the people, as you can see, are using a tiny wooden chapel. This big new church,” stopping before a dignified building of gray stone, “has been under construction since 1910. The outside, as you see, is practically done; but the inside is a mass of scaffolding.”

“Yes,” said Nancy, “I can see some of it through that window. But why take so long to build one church?”

“The people have not enough money to finish it all at once; and although they give most generously to the church, it may be ten or fifteen years before the building is ready for use. They never use a church until it is entirely completed; and, apparently, do not borrow to build, as we do in the States, but simply go as fast as their money on hand will permit.”

“I think it marvelous,” said Miss Ashton, “that even in twenty-five years the people of a section like this could put up such a church. Surely the congregation is not large; and it is quite obvious that they are not possessed of much of this world’s goods.”

“It is wonderful,” admitted Jim; “but you see their whole life centers around the church, and they give, according to our standards of giving, far out of proportion to their means.”

“But how on earth do these people ever get anywhere?” asked Martha. “There is no sign of a railroad.”

“They drive; or if by chance (which is very seldom) they want to go some distance, the railroad can be reached, although it swings inland from Digby to Yarmouth instead of following the coast line. There is a reason for that curve in the Atlantic Dominion Line. It is said that when the course of the railroad was laid out, the priest who had charge of this district begged not to have it pass through these little French villages. His request was granted, and few distractions of the world outside disturb his people. The position of the priest here is most important; for he is judge, lawyer, general friend and adviser, as well as pastor.”

“Seems like a mighty drab sort of life, I think,” said Martha, skeptically.

“It does look that way to us,” said Miss Ashton, “who have made a regular fetish of what we call progress. But I wonder if perhaps in the real happiness that comes from peace and contentment, they haven’t the better of us.”

“In other words,” said Jeanette softly, “you think it possible that they have ‘chosen the better part.’”

Everyone was quiet for a while; there is an air of peace in the Acadian country that seems to command reverence. Soon the region of St. Mary’s Bay was left behind, and the bus rolled into Yarmouth, reaching the hotel just in time for lunch.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*IN THE MAIL*

“Be ready at two thirty for a trip to Lower Woods Harbor, please,” said Jim, as they left the bus; adding in an undertone to Nancy, “our last ride together.”

“It is hard to realize that,” she replied softly. “It seems as if we were just going on and on in this bus for the rest of the summer.”

“We’ll probably find some letters here,” said Miss Ashton, as she went toward the desk in the lobby.

“I hope so,” replied Jeanette. “It seems perfect ages since we left home.”

“Homesick, Janie?” inquired Martha.

“Oh, no; only I do love to get mail; and it seemed queer to be without it all this time.”

“Well, here’s plenty of it,” said Miss Ashton, distributing it rapidly. “Two for Jeanette, three for Martha, five for Nancy, and four for myself.”

“Let’s go somewhere and read it all; so we can exchange news,” proposed Martha.

“A very good idea. That ‘somewhere’ might just as well be one of our rooms,” agreed Miss Ashton, leading the way to the elevator, to which a bell boy had already preceded them with the luggage. They got off at the third floor, where two rooms had been reserved for them. They were a bit disappointed to find that they were not connecting; one, a small room, was near the end of the corridor; the other, much larger, was near the stairs.

“My goodness,” exclaimed Martha, as they entered the larger one. “You could give a dance here!”

A huge double bed near the fireplace, a single beside the two long windows (from which they could see the wharf), a big wardrobe, an immense dresser, a fair-sized square table and three chairs only partly filled the old-fashioned room; and its very high ceilings accentuated its huge proportions.

“You could take the single bed if you wanted to, Mart,” proposed Nancy; “and give Miss Ashton a chance to get a little real sleep. You see, we know how restless she is at night, as well as by day,” she added to Miss Ashton.

“Fix it up any way to suit yourselves,” she replied; “and that will please me. Now for our mail.”

For several minutes there was no sound except the opening of envelopes and the turning of pages. When everyone had read all her communications, they began to exchange bits of information.

“One of mine,” said Miss Ashton, “is from Madelon. Her foster mother is still confined to her bed, and she has no idea when she will be able to come back to Boston.”

“What a shame!” cried Nancy.

“Poor Madelon!” said Jeanette softly. “She must feel terribly lonely up there now, after having lived in a city like Boston.”

“I don’t know her at all,” said Martha; “but let’s all get her some little thing and mail to her at different times.”

“That is a very nice idea,” approved Miss Ashton. “She said to tell you girls how much she regretted being unable to show you Boston, which she likes so well. The rest of my letters are from old or prospective patients, and would not interest you particularly.”

“One of mine,” said Jeanette, “is from home. Mother spent Monday with your mother, Nan, and she said Polly kept calling, ‘Where is Nancy?’ She seemed to think Mother should know. My other letter is from Mrs. Perkins, and encloses one from Joey. Wait. I’ll read them both to you. Mrs. Perkins says:

“‘I was so glad to get your card, and to know that you and your special pals were going to have such a delightful trip. Nova Scotia is a place I always thought I should like to see. Perhaps if your reports of it are enticing, I may yet visit it some day. When you come back to college, you might give us a travel talk; and, by the way, there might be a surprise here awaiting your return. Don’t write and ask me what it is; for I shall not tell you. _That_ would spoil the surprise.

“‘The Harris family is getting along very well. One of Pauline’s office friends invited her to go on a vacation trip to Toronto, for both of them happened to get the same two weeks. The other girl’s people live there; so it was a question simply of the fare for Pauline; and that was managed quite nicely——’”

“Which means that she supplied the money herself,” interrupted Nancy.

“‘Joey’” [continued Jeanette], “‘has been rather lonely this summer, in spite of all the attention lavished on him by the Harrises and the college people who live in town. He misses, I think, the crowd and bustle of college life. I enclose a note from him.

“‘Love to you and your pals, “‘Alicia Perkins.’”

“And here is Joey’s note,” she went on; “of course the spelling is superb, so you had better read it for yourselves.” She passed it on, and they all read:

“Dee Mis Janete, Hop you ar havin a fin time but com bac soon THanks fur the cards Rollo sends lov.

“Joey.”

“And who, pray, is Joey?” inquired Miss Ashton.

“Oh, we forgot,” cried Nancy. “You don’t know anything about Joey, or Mrs. Perkins either; do you?”

All three of the girls tried to explain at once; so Miss Ashton had to exercise her imagination in spots to piece together the disjointed, interrupted bits of information about the little crippled boy who belonged to one of the college janitors, and had been taken up by the students as a sort of protégé; and of the fine Mrs. Perkins who was a member of the girls’ club for helping others.

“Poor little fellow,” she said, when the trio had finished. “Seems to me he should have some simple lessons to help occupy him, as well as to develop his mind.”

“Perhaps when we go back, he will be able to,” replied Jeanette thoughtfully. “He really wasn’t well enough for anything but play last year. Some days even that was too much of an exertion.”

“Now, Nannie,” said Martha. “What news have you to contribute?”

“The first letter I read was from Mother,” said Nancy. “Dad has bought a dog—a big collie, which they have named Peter; and Polly just can’t bear him. _He_, however, is quite curious about _her_, and frequently stands for some minutes in front of the cage, gazing at her, undisturbed apparently by her shrieks of rage and uncomplimentary remarks.

“Mother has been dividing her spare time, since we left, between instructing a new maid, and sewing for a family whose house and belongings were badly damaged by fire. She says she has been a regular pest to the neighbors because she has asked all of them for cast-off clothing and furniture. Her struggles with the maid must be very funny; for she can’t speak a word of Italian, nor the girl a syllable of English. She tried to explain to Benita the other day that the floors in the bedrooms must be gone over with the dust mop every day, and showed her how the lint gathered under the beds where there were a couple of pairs of slippers. The next morning after the upstairs work was finished, Mother was horrified to find her slippers set carefully on her lovely orchid rayon dresser spread! She learned from. Benita’s pantomime explanations that if the slippers were not kept under the bed there would be nothing to catch the dust. Now Mother puts all her footwear in the closet, where, she says, it really belongs after all. Mother hurt her ankle the other day (it was nothing serious, but she had to keep off of it for a day); and she sent Benita out to get the mail, from the box. She tried by gesticulations to get her to understand what she wanted; but from the noise on the porch she wondered what on earth Benita was doing. It seems that our maid is quite a muscular person; for what do you suppose she did? She got the wrong idea from Mother’s motions about taking something out of a box, and actually ripped the flower box off the railing of the porch and brought it in! Mother is surely having some fun, but I imagine it is rather trying. That is about all of interest in her letter.”

“And the second one?” urged Martha.

“That is from Uncle John. They have added a sun parlor to the house, Janie, on the south side, you know, near the fence where the lizards sun themselves——”

“Lizards, ugh!” shuddered Martha.

“Oh, Mart, you wouldn’t mind them. They are dear little things, some of them quite tame.”

“No recommendations at all to my way of thinking,” retorted Martha. “The wilder the better, I should say, if being wild makes them keep away from me.”

“What else did the Doctor say?” inquired Jeanette, who was very fond of Nancy’s uncle.

“He saw Madame the other day; in fact, she invited them over for dinner. She told him that she is considering getting a companion. Her husband is so occupied with some kind of writing that he is doing, that she is left alone a great deal of the time; and she would like a young girl who would liven up the house a bit. She says that she would be prepare to treat the right kind of a girl like a daughter, entertain for her, and all that. She wanted to know if Uncle could recommend anyone. He did not know of any possibilities, but promised to keep his eyes open.”

“Pauline!” cried Jeanette.

“Janie, you’re a genius! I wonder if she would go!” exclaimed Nancy. “I’ll write Uncle to-night, and tell him all about her.”

“And the third epistle?” teased Martha, who had seen an envelope addressed in a masculine hand.

“That’s from Curtis,” replied Nancy, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “He has been sent out to Portland.”

“Maine?” asked Martha, hopefully. “That’s isn’t so far from here. We might stop over on the way home.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, dear,” answered Nancy, sweetly, “but I said _out_ not _up_, for the Portland in question happens to be in Oregon.”

“‘Now that’s too bad! That’s just too bad!’” sighed Martha.

Everybody laughed; for they had all recently seen “On with the Show” and recognized the quotation at once.

“Curtis wrote only a note; for he had just arrived, and had not yet seen anything interesting. This other letter,” she continued, “is from Phil Spenser.”

“Oh, are he and Tom going to meet us in Boston as they spoke of doing?” asked Jeanette.

“Time alone can tell,” replied Nancy.

“They started out in Tom’s old Ford coupe, intending to take in quite a part of the Adirondacks on the way. Thinking to make better time, or merely for the experience, I don’t know which, they drove all one night, instead of putting up anywhere. They made a wrong turn at some point or other, which took them off the main highway onto a very deserted road, where they were held up by a couple of armed men——”

“How perfectly _thrilling_!” cried Martha.

“Who relieved them of all their money, their watches, etc., punctured all the tires, and then rode off in their own little car. The boys stayed there until morning, and then got a passing motorist from the highway to tow them to the nearest garage. They had no money to pay for repairs; so made arrangements with the garage owner to stay and work out their bill. They worked there for a week, and then started on, almost penniless, for Lake Placid——”

“But why didn’t they send home for some money?” demanded Martha.

“Because Tom had taken with him all he could afford to spend on vacation, and Mr. Spenser, under protest, had furnished Phil with a like amount.”

“I thought the Spensers had quite a lot of money,” said Jeanette.