Part 6

“They have, I believe; but Mr. Spenser thinks Phil should earn what he wants to spend on pleasure. Phil says his dad was quite annoyed because he preferred going off with Tom to working all the rest of the summer in the Electric Company’s office. I imagine it was only the fact that Tom begged for Phil’s company that made Mr. Spenser consent at all. He feels that Tom has rather a good effect on Phil, I understand. But, to go on with the story—they tried all the hotels to see if they could get jobs, and finally found one where one of the elevator boys had just been sent to the hospital; so Tom was taken on as a sub. After some more wandering about, Phil found a place with an old man who has a farm a little way up the lake, and who supplies the hotels with chickens and eggs. He used to deliver his wares himself in an old-fashioned buggy; but that method is too slow now. He bought a Ford truck, and then discovered that he couldn’t learn to run it. Phil fortunately appeared on the scene at that particular moment, and was hired at once.”

“Just imagine,” cried Martha, “the superior Phil Spenser driving up to those big hotels with a load of chickens and eggs. It’s the funniest thing I have ever heard!”

“So that is what they are doing now,” concluded Nancy; “and their meeting us all depends on whether they can earn enough money before we go home.”

She picked up another letter. “This,” she said, “is from Ethel King——”

“Oh, _what_ does she say about Emma?” inquired Jeanette eagerly.

“I’ll read it to you.

“‘Dear Girls:

“‘To say that I was pleasantly surprised when Emma stepped off the train at Plattsburg is to put it mildly. Her hair looks just fine, and her pride in her new bob is very funny. She keeps patting it, and feeling of it to see if it is still there. Later on she’ll have to be broken of that. However, Marian will teach, or try to teach, her repose of manner. Did you ever see _any_body practice it so perfectly as our “Mary Ann”? She never touches her clothing or herself, or anything at all, in fact, unnecessarily. I understand that her mother is painfully neat and particular—(what a jolt poor Emma will give her!)—and I suppose Marian took her ways quite naturally, or was trained into them.

“‘Emma’s wardrobe is perfect, and she really takes pains to keep her things nice. I suspect that was some of Jeanette’s good work. Her manners, too, are greatly improved, and she does not hang onto one’s waist or neck quite so persistently as of yore.

“‘You will want to know, I suppose, what little Ethel did for her. Well, Mother and I talked things over beforehand—for, of course, I had to confide in her—and we decided to teach our mutual friend the joys of athletic exercise. We get the morning setting-up series over the radio; so the very first day I routed her out and made her do them with me; and ditto the rest of the days. Twice a day we went into the water, and Emma learned to swim a little. We went for tramps through the woods, and along the shore; and had picnic suppers. In fact, as I said, outdoor exercise was the theme of our entertainment. At the end of the week, Emma really had a little color, and had straightened up considerably.

“‘Esther expected to interest her in gym work when she went to Moore’s; so I imagine when we see Emma again she will have lost that distressing stoop, and rounded shoulders. I’m really very anxious to see what the entire summer will do for her. I can’t help thinking, though, that whatever does come out of it, the most credit should go to you two. The start you gave her in those two weeks was incredible. But all the C.M.’s are so different, and ride such diverse hobbies, that the composite result should be at least interesting, if not inspiring.

“‘Do run up here, if you can, before the summer is over, any or all of you. Love,

“‘Ethel’”

“What might be wrong with this Emma!” asked Miss Ashton, and again the three all enlightened her at once.

“Glad you are being such friends in need,” was her brief comment, when they had finished. “And now let’s get ready for lunch.”

“Clams,” read Jeanette from the menu, when they were seated at the table. “I never ate any, but I understand they’re very popular here.”

“No time like the present,” suggested Nancy a bit absently, her eyes roving about the dining room.

“But I shouldn’t know how to eat them,” said Jeanette, wavering between her desire to taste a new food, and reluctance to appear awkward in such a public place.

“I’ll show you,” offered Martha.

“Do you really know how?” asked Jeanette, a bit doubtfully.

“Of course I do. I went to a couple of clam bakes last summer.”

When a cup of melted butter, another of hot water, and a big dish of steaming clams were set before her, Jeanette looked really frightened.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have ordered them. I don’t know what to do first.”

“You open them this way,” said Martha, demonstrating them as she talked; “pull off this piece, which I always called its ear——”

“Why?” asked Jeanette, watching anxiously.

“Because that part is not good. Then dip the clam into water, to wash the sand out, then in the melted butter, and then swallow it.”

“You take it in your fingers?” asked Jeanette in horrified tones.

“Of course.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Why, yes. Go ahead, and don’t be silly!”

Slowly and awkwardly, Jeanette repeated the processes which Martha had demonstrated.

“Everybody is looking at me,” she said, flushing hotly.

“Everybody is far too interested in his own lunch to bother looking at you,” Miss Ashton assured her.

“I’m afraid this isn’t the right way to do it,” protested Jeanette, over the third clam. “It seems so sort of messy.”

“I certainly would have no object in deceiving you,” retorted Martha, a bit tartly. “That man at the next table just got some. Watch him and see what he does.”

Rather to Jeanette’s surprise, and to Martha’s complete satisfaction, their neighbor employed the same method.

“You’re right, Mart,” admitted Jeanette. “I don’t mean that I actually doubted your word; but, as I said, the process is so unattractive.”

“I agree with you,” said Nancy. “Someone ought to invent a more gracefully way of handling them.”

“Someone ought to invent a means of keeping the time from passing so quickly,” observed Miss Ashton. “We are due in the bus in ten minutes.”

A light fog was beginning to be seen and felt as they took their old places in the bus.

“Couldn’t you have ordered a better afternoon?” asked Martha saucily of Jim as they left the hotel behind. “And don’t forget that you promised to show us some ox teams to-day. In fact, you told us we’d see a lot yesterday, and not even one appeared.”

“I’ll do my best,” was Jim’s brief reply. He was not much of a talker at any time, except when his work required it; but this afternoon he was more quiet than ever before. Nancy, too, was strangely silent.

The country through which they were riding was sterner, more rugged than any they had yet seen; now rocky shores, rolling stony pastures, few houses, bleak strips of beach seen through a heavy mist, with white billows of fog in the background ready to roll in upon the land at any minute and envelop everything in its baffling embrace.

“Here comes your ox team, Mart,” said Jeanette presently, as they saw in the near distance a team pulling a long low wagon loaded with stone.

Jim good-naturedly stopped the bus and let the girls get out to take a picture of the animals at a watering trough where they paused for a drink.

“Why, they have no harness,” said Jeanette, “only that heavy wooden yoke laid across their necks and binding their heads together. How do you guide them?” she asked of the driver.

“With this small whip, Miss, and my directions,” replied the man.

“Poor things!” said Nancy, after they had climbed back into the bus again. “They look so sad, and lumber along so bent down that it really is depressing. The expression in their eyes is truly pathetic. I almost wish I hadn’t gotten out to look at them.”

The girls laughed, but Jim looked down understandingly at Nancy. Jim, who slowed down the big bus to almost a standstill if even a chicken crossed the road in front of it!

“These people,” he said, after a moment, “are very proud of their fine oxen, and take pains to have them perfectly matched. If one of a team happens to die, they travel all over the country, if need be, to find an exact match for the survivor.”

“Why do they prefer them to horses, I wonder,” said Miss Ashton.

“Because they are cheaper to feed. They are peculiar to Nova Scotia; for nowhere else in Canada are they still used.”

The fog billows gathered themselves together, and rolled along the surface of the water, closer and closer to the land.

“What are those?” asked Nancy, pointing to a stack of crate-like objects near a fisherman’s hut.

“Lobster pots,” said Jim; “and that pile of stakes with the ball-like colored tops are markers.”

At the next pile, which happened to be close beside the road, he stopped and got out; and they all followed him to see what the strange looking cages were really like.

The base of the pot was rectangular in shape, and between two and three feet long, and a foot and a half wide. It was made of narrow strips of wood; and the sides and top were formed, in a semicircle, of similar narrow strips bent and fastened to the base, into which some flat stones are wedged to give weight, and help sink them. The trap is lined with coarse net, and openings are left at the side and ends, with the net so arranged that the lobsters can get in, but once in, cannot get out. The box-like cage is let down in the water where lobsters are known to be plentiful, and a marker is set up beside it. The lobster is so full of curiosity that he crawls into the trap, but finds it more difficult to get out again. Some of the pots are so constructed as to catch four lobsters at one time.

“You will notice,” said Jim, “that the markers are of different colors and combinations of color. Every fisherman in a section has his own, and no one else dares to touch the trap guarded by the markers of another.”

Jeanette had been busy pulling wild roses from the thicket beside which they were standing; and when they got back into the car, presented each person with a fragrant spray. Some of these sprays were carelessly thrown away as the flowers wilted; but two of them were carefully pressed and preserved for many years.

“Oh, what is going on here?” cried Martha, as they approached a small village.

Flags, large and small, the blue one of New Scotland, the Canadian maple leaf, the Union Jack, the tricolor of France all strung along the roadside; also on the houses, barns, trees, and even merely stuck into the ground. Even the tiniest, poorest cottage proudly flaunted its bit of loyalty. The grounds of the church were surrounded with conveyances of all types, from brand new Fords to muddy canopied surreys. Crowds of people were standing about the building, some setting up tables, some carrying chairs, some helping the tall young priest place the donations of food and fancy articles which would presently be sold. Between two trees stretched a banner of blue, bearing in white letters the words “Old Home Week.” For miles, the roads were dotted with men, women, and children of all ages, dressed in their best, hurrying eagerly along on foot to take part in the festival.

Jim prolonged the drive as much as possible, but at last it came to an end; and they drew up once more before the hotel.

“Well, my boy,” said Miss Ashton, “we have enjoyed the trip immensely, and are indeed sorry that it is over. Look me up when you get back to Boston, if you ever happen to feel like it. Here’s my card.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I shall. I live in Cambridge, but that’s only across the river, as you know.”

Jeanette and Martha then said good-by, and Jeanette considerately took Martha by the arm, and followed Miss Ashton into the hotel.

“And have you enjoyed it all?” asked Jim, when he and Nancy were left alone.

“Just wonderfully,” replied Nancy honestly. “The most of any trip I have ever taken.”

“I wish I had a stop-over here so I could show you the town; but I go back to Digby first thing in the morning, as soon as the boat comes in. Do you suppose you could go out to-night for a walk, or are you too tired?”

“I’ve done nothing to tire me,” said Nancy, smiling. “And I’m sure Miss Ashton won’t mind.”

“Then I’ll call for you at—say eight?”

“Yes; I’ll be all ready.”

They could not have told you where they walked that evening, nor what they said; but their conversation was entirely of themselves.

Nancy heard all about Jim’s parents, and his older brother; about his plans and hopes for the future; his experiences in prep school, and at college. She in turn told him all about herself and her friends.

“I wish I were going back on the boat with you to-morrow night,” he said, as they rested on the enclosed porch for a few minutes before parting for good.

“It would be very nice, if you could,” she said. “When do you expect to go back?”

“I have no idea. Whenever orders come. Well, you must get some sleep; for you’ll want to shop in the morning, I suspect. There are some stores here which I guess would interest girls.”

Reluctantly they rose, and stood silent for a moment.

“Will you write, Nancy?”

“Yes.”

Poor Jim! He could think of many things which he would like to say, but was too bashful, too repressed to put them into words.

They clasped hands; then Jim ran down the steps, turning to salute when he reached the sidewalk.

Nancy did not feel like joining the others just yet; so she selected a far corner of the nearly deserted writing room and began a letter to her mother. Miss Ashton peered in at her a couple of times, and then went upstairs again without disturbing her.

“Nan is writing,” she said to the other two girls. “I imagine she will be up after a while. I, for one, am going right to bed.”

She was as good as her word; but she lay for several hours, turning over an idea in her mind. When she had settled it to her satisfaction, and not until then, she fell asleep.

In the meantime Jeanette and Martha had also retired, and lay talking across the room.

“It seems to me,” said Martha, “that somebody has quite a case on somebody else.”

“Your statement is a trifle ambiguous,” laughed Jeanette, “but I know what you mean.”

“And don’t you think so, too?” persisted Martha.

“Yes, I do; but for pity’s sake don’t let Nan know that you notice it. She just hates any of what she calls ‘foolishness over the boys.’”

“That’s the funny part of it,” said Martha. “I don’t believe she realizes that Jim is just crazy about her.”

“Or that she cares for him,” added Jeanette, to herself.

“Do you?”

“No-o-o,” yawned Jeanette. “I’m terribly sleepy. Let’s settle down.”

It would be easier for Nancy if they were both asleep when she came up, and she could slip into bed without having to talk. Martha was soon breathing heavily; but Jeanette did not succeed in getting to sleep until long after Nancy came to bed.

*CHAPTER IX*

*RAMBLES ABOUT YARMOUTH*

“What are we to do to-day?” asked Martha at the breakfast table.

“Shop, and see the town,” suggested Jeanette.

“Suits me,” said Nancy, when they all waited for her comments. Just a few minutes before, she had heard the whistle of a boat from the wharf. The steamer from Boston must have docked, and the big bus was down there now ready for a new cargo of passengers. What would this crowd be like? She wondered.

“I have some letters to write; so I’ll have to be excused,” said Miss Ashton. “If I finish in time, I may hunt you up; if not, we’ll all meet here at lunch time.”

An hour later, the three girls were strolling along the main street, stopping in various stores to look at the goods most attractively displayed.

“I could spend a day in there,” said Nancy, as they left a stationer’s store, where English books and magazines invited one to browse.

“It’s funny, I suppose; but I never thought of their having different magazines from ours,” said Martha.

“I know. It gives one a kind of a start to look at the display, and not see a name one recognizes,” remarked Jeanette.

“I’d love to read them all, and compare them with similar publications of ours,” said Nancy.

“We might buy Joey one of those books for small boys,” suggested Jeanette.

“That’s so,” and Nancy darted back into the store to select one.

When she came out, they wandered on again until they came to a shop where all kinds of gifts were sold.

“Don’t you think it would be nice,” said Jeanette, “if we were all to put together and get some little souvenir for Miss Ashton? It need not be very expensive, but something that she could keep as a memento of this trip.”

“I think that would be fine,” agreed Nancy. “She has been just wonderful to us.”

“So do I,” added Martha. “What shall we get?”

They were inside now, and gazing helplessly at the fascinating array.

“One of these water colors of Nova Scotian scenery,” suggested Jeanette, picking one up as she spoke.

When there were three to be suited, and each picture they looked at was more beautiful than the last, the process of making a decision was a lengthy one. At last, however, it was accomplished to everyone’s satisfaction; and to the relief of the clerk.

“Dear, I’d just love to buy some of these for all my relatives and friends,” said Martha, hanging longingly over a tray of sparkling amethysts.

“I’m going to get a pin for Mother,” said Nancy; “but I’m afraid that will be the extent of my purchases.”

“I thought we were going to get something for Madelon, as you call her,” said Martha.

“Yes, we were—or rather, we are,” replied Jeanette. “Would one of these pendants be nice?”

“Just the thing, I should say,” agreed Nancy. So they selected a dainty silver chain and a long slender pendant set with a single amethyst.

“I’ve just _got_ to have it,” murmured Martha, presently.

“Got to have what, Mart?” asked Jeanette.

“That ring. Did you ever in all your life see such a beauty?”

It was lovely—a dinner ring with an oblong amethyst of one of the deepest violet shades.

“Well, why don’t you buy it then?” asked Nancy, a bit impatiently. She was restless, and eager now to move on.

“I can’t quite make up my mind. It’s quite expensive and yet I do want it so much.”

“Well, think it over, Mart,” suggested Jeanette, “and come back here this afternoon if you decide you can’t get along without it.”

“I heard that there are wonderful bargains in sweaters here,” said Martha, as they went out upon the street again; “and I’d like to find them.”

After a little search, they found the shop where woolens of all kinds were sold, and Martha went into raptures over the various articles.

“I’m going to get that doll for Ellen Harris, and this scarf for Betty——

“Do you think that is really wise?” interrupted Jeanette.

“What?”

“Taking presents to those children?”

“Why not?”

“If it were only this once, it might not matter so much; but don’t you see that you will be creating a precedent? Like all children, and some grown-ups, they will then look for souvenirs every time you or any of us go away in the future. One can’t always be bringing things, and yet, naturally, you hate to disappoint children.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Martha slowly. “But the things _are_ darling.”

“Nancy and I decided when we first began to go on trips that we’d each take our mother some little gift, but no one else. Wholesale buying of souvenirs is very expensive, and sometimes is the cause of much jealousy and dissatisfaction. There is no good stopping place, once you have begun. If you really want to buy any of these things for friends, I would suggest that you get them as Christmas gifts. Lots of people buy their gifts when on their vacations.”

“Well, I don’t know about buying Christmas gifts as early as this,” said Martha, after thinking a minute; “but anyhow I’m going to get a sweater for myself. This rose one is lovely. Don’t you think so?”

“It is sweet,” said Jeanette; “but would it go with everything?”

“Always the careful shopper, Janie,” laughed Nancy.

“I suppose it wouldn’t go with everything,” admitted Martha, putting it hack reluctantly. “I’ll take this tan one, I guess. That gray and violet I’ll buy for Mother. And I’ve always taken something to Christine, the girl I pal around with at home. I’ll buy the powder blue one for her.”

While the purchases were being wrapped up, Martha was looking over more sweaters; and Nancy heard her murmur to herself.

“What _are_ you saying, Mart?” she asked. “You know it’s a bad sign, they say, when you begin talking to yourself.”

“I was just thinking that scarlet sweater would be exactly the thing I need for skating this winter. I think I’ll take that one too,” pointing it out to the clerk.

“For pity’s sake, let’s get her out of here,” whispered Nancy to Jeanette; “or she’ll have to walk home.”

“And won’t we even get the things for Joey?” asked Martha, when they were on the street again, loath to bring to a close the shopping expedition which she so dearly loved.

“Oh, we’ll each get some simple amusing toy for him. Nobody would question our remembering a sick child.”

They stopped in another shop and selected a game, a puzzle, and a new collar for Rollo; and then they went on for a walk through the residential section of the town.

“Did you ever _see_ such flower gardens?” asked Jeanette, entranced.

“Or such climbing roses?” added Nancy, pointing out a house where, on trellises at either side of the front door, with its brass knocker, red roses ran to the very roof.

“These beautifully trimmed hedges of English hawthorne attract me,” said Martha. “Imagine them when they are covered with deep rose-colored blossoms!”

“The guidebook says Yarmouth is famous for rose gardens, velvet-green lawns, and well-trimmed hedge rows,” said Jeanette. “Years ago it was also famous for shipbuilding, and the ships made here went all over the world. Now it is the principal port for passenger and freight service between Nova Scotia and the United States.”

“Oh, look at those darling colored children,” cried Martha. “I must get a picture of them.” They stood waiting, while the oldest girl pulled, pushed, and coaxed the younger children into a straight line; smoothed their fuzzy hair, and their clothing, joined their hands, and then took her place at the head of the row.

“Do you know that it is nearly lunch time?” asked Nancy, as Martha lingered to visit with the children.

“That’s so! How the morning has flown! We’ll have to run so as not to keep Miss Ashton waiting. Come on!” And clutching them by the arms, Martha started toward the hotel at a very rapid pace.

“Martha,” objected Jeanette, “do slow up a bit. They don’t dash around here the way we do down in the States. People will think we are crazy, or going to a fire or something.”

“We are going to something,” laughed Martha, slackening her speed, “our lunch. Some more clams, Janie, now that you know how to eat them!”

“Never!”

“Now I suppose we shall have to pack,” groaned Martha, as they left the dining room after lunch. “That’s the only part of a trip that I don’t like.”

“I want to consult you girls,” said Miss Ashton. “Will you come in here, please?” entering the white parlor on the opposite side of the hall.

“I wonder what has happened,” thought Jeanette anxiously; for their chaperon looked very serious.

“One of my letters yesterday,” began Miss Ashton, when they were seated before the fireplace in the attractive room with its white woodwork and blue upholstered furniture, “told me that I shall not have to report on a new case for another two weeks. This place seems to be very healthful and pleasant, and I wondered if you would mind canceling our sailing reservations for to-night and staying on a few days longer——”