his voice from upstairs and be able to run up and see what he wanted. At least it provided something to do.
“I’m coming,” called Desiré, stopping in her room to get a lamp.
“Don’t want you,” replied René rudely, as she entered. “Want Prissy. She was going to catch the mouse,” he added.
“The mouse,” repeated his sister in bewilderment, feeling his head to see if he were feverish.
“Yes,” said the little boy, jerking fretfully away from her and pointing to the corner behind the bed.
There lay Priscilla, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, with Polly, the big grey house cat, clasped tightly in her arms. The animal blinked at the light and uttered a loud “Me-o-w!”
Desiré, together with Jack who had by that time followed her, stood speechless, looking down at the sleeping child.
“I want to know if she caught that mouse,” demanded René in positive tones.
At that moment Priscilla, aroused by the sound of voices, opened her eyes, a bit bewildered by the sudden awakening. She looked blankly from one to another, her gaze finally centering on Jack’s face.
“I didn’t disobey you,” she said. “René called me because he was frightened of a mouse. You said I might leave the room if he wanted anything.”
“But what are you doing down here on the floor, darling?” asked Desiré softly; for Jack could not speak.
“I got Polly and sat down here by the mouse’s hole so’s she could catch him when he came out again; and we all kept so quiet I guess we went to sleep.”
Jack picked the little girl up, carried her to the room across the hall, and held her close for a moment before laying her on the bed.
“Both of you get to sleep as soon as you can,” he directed. “I’ll go down and tell the family she’s found.”
“Is Jack angry at me?” inquired Priscilla, sleepily.
“Not a bit, dear. We thought you were lost. Everybody has been looking all over for you, out in the barn, in the woods, and—”
“And here I was all the time,” giggled the child, wholly unconscious of having been the cause of great anxiety and effort.
Along the shore, the next morning, as the Wistmores started out after parting reluctantly with the Riboux family, were hundreds of gulls looking for food, and the air was filled with their harsh croaking cries. Out on the blue waters floated others, at rest on the ripples. In the meadows herds of black and white cows wandered about, cropping the grass heavy with dew, their bells tinkling constantly as they sought for choicer tidbits.
“Before we get to Saulnierville we make our first stop,” said Desiré, consulting the list she had taken from Jack’s pocket.
“We’ll be there shortly.”
“Oh, I hope we sell just lots of stuff!” cried Priscilla, who was quite herself again.
“Yes, lots of stuff,” echoed René, grabbing Jack around the neck.
“Don’t choke brother,” laughed Desiré, loosening the embracing arms.
Before many minutes passed, they came in sight of a small grey house. An immense grey barn stood behind it, its double doors freshly painted a brilliant red. The farm was enclosed by a grey fence with double gates of pure white.
“Why don’t the gates and the doors match, I wonder,” remarked Priscilla, who had an eye for color combinations.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” replied Jack, bringing the wagon to a stop before a path bordered with clam shells. The path led up to the front door, and another row of clam shells surrounded the house, which was built, like so many others in Nova Scotia, with overlapped shingles on one side and clapboards on the other three.
“Let the youngsters run about a bit while I go in,” directed Jack, preparing to climb over the wheel.
At this moment the sound of galloping horses on the road over which they had just come made everyone turn; and they saw another wagon, the counterpart of their own, swaying crazily from side to side as the driver urged on his excited animals.
“Runaway!” squealed René delightedly.
“They’ll hit us!” shrieked Priscilla.
Jack deftly pushed off the road into a field, and jumped from the wagon ready to be of assistance. His keen eye saw at once, however, that the approaching team was not out of control. As soon as it came abreast of the Wistmore “store” the driver pulled up with a suddenness which threw the animals on their haunches; and, leaping from his seat, he faced Jack belligerently.
CHAPTER VIII
A FIGHT
“My territory!” growled the man, motioning toward the house. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re mistaken,” responded Jack quickly. “I have old Simon’s entire route, and this is the first stop on the list he gave me.”
“It may have been his, but it ain’t goin’ to be yours!”
“And who is going to prevent me?” inquired Jack, in even, quiet tones which Desiré knew meant that he was working hard to keep his temper under control.
“I am. I made up my mind soon as I heard the old man was sick, that I would take this route; and nobody’s goin’ to stop me. Least of all, you,” he added, looking Jack’s slender form up and down contemptuously.
“You great—big—” began Priscilla excitedly.
“Be quiet, Prissy,” said her brother. “You and the others stand over there beside the wagon.”
As he spoke, he started in the direction of the farmhouse. Like a flash the thick-set figure was in his pathway.
“No, you don’t!” he sneered.
The two measured each other silently for a moment, standing as motionless as dogs in that last tense moment just before they spring.
Jack put out his foot to advance, and his opponent was upon him. They fell heavily to the ground, the stranger on top.
“He’ll kill him!” sobbed Priscilla, while René added his wails to hers.
“Don’t kill Jack!” he cried.
“Hush!” pleaded Desiré, her eyes wide with fright. “Say a prayer that Jack will come out all right.”
The terrified little group watched the two adversaries roll over and over, pounding, grappling, struggling. Then Jack, with a quick twist, loosened the grasp of the other and sprang to his feet. With surprising swiftness, for a man so heavy, the enemy also righted himself and again leaped upon Jack. Back and forth they swayed, locked in a close embrace, each trying desperately to keep his own footing and trip the other. At times they stood stock still waiting to get breath and strength for a renewal of the contest.
