Lunde, the things you gave me were very bad and bitter, and my head used to go round, I remember. Sometimes things stood on the ceiling in such a funny position. And then to be like a baby, hardly able to walk.”
She gave a soft, languid ripple of a laugh. Ah, what if he had lost her!
“And when can I go out?”
“Oh, not in a long while. It is bitter cold, even the river is full of ice chunks. But you may dance at the next king’s ball.”
“The king’s ball?” inquiringly.
“Not the King of France,” with a gentle smile. “When the Christ was born three kings came to do Him honor. And the feast is always kept.”
“The blessed Epiphany,” explained Mère Lunde. “Though why it should be given over to all this merry-making I can’t see.”
“Did you ever go?” asked Renée.
“Oh, yes. But not last year – I had started for Canada. And the year before I was up with the hunters.”
“Tell me about it.”
He sat down beside her. She was twisting the chain about her fingers.
“There is not much to do for the people who stay here in the winter, though New Orleans is twice as gay. So they have the balls. There are four queens, pretty young girls, and they each choose a king and open the ball with him. Then they dance. But the old people and a good many of the children go as well. And there is dancing and jollity and a feast of good things to eat, and much laughing and jesting and falling in love, with the marrying at Easter. Next year we will go.”
“I will keep my chain to wear then.” She put it back in the box. “And when I am well I will go down and thank grandfather.”
“Yes, yes, that will be the right thing to do. I will take you.”
Then they were silent awhile. “Tell me some of the stories you know,” she entreated.
“I have told you so many.”
“But you can think of one more,” in her coaxing tone. “Away up in the north and the endless fields of snow, and where does it end?”
“At the North Pole, I believe.”
“And what is that?” eagerly.
“We will have to ask Dr. Montcrevier. I have never been farther than Hudson’s Bay.”
“But people can’t live in such endless cold!”
“I think not. Only polar bears and the white and silver fox, and they come down in the winter. And then there are islands hundreds of miles away below us, where it is always summer.”
“What a queer world!” She smiled absently as if she could hardly take it in. “Have you been there?”
“Only to New Orleans. Some day we will go there, too.”
“Oh, how much there is to do. Yes, one must live a long while to do it all,” and a thoughtful expression deepened her eyes.
“And you are tired, little one. You must go to bed.”
It was strange to get so tired. She had been tired many times on the long journey from Canada, but not like this. She was very glad she had not died, however, though she had no very clear idea about death, except that it meant going to another world. Uncle Gaspard was here, and that was one reason why she wanted to stay.
Presently she began to go about and take pleasure in having the children come in and tell her about their sports. The life was so simple, the main thing seemed to be the good times. No one troubled about education and there were no “higher branches” to vex one’s soul. There was much less dissipation here than in New Orleans or even Detroit, where people from other towns were continually mingling.
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