“Silly!” observed Priscilla. “We are home. Home’s where Jack and Desiré are.”
Desiré smiled up at Jack, and leaned back to squeeze her little sister’s arm.
“Shall we try to make our sales before supper, and then camp outside of town?” asked Jack; “or shall we eat, and then sell afterwards.”
“Sell first. Work before pleasure,” Desiré decided promptly.
At a house far beyond the church they came to a halt, and Desiré leaned from the wagon to call to a small boy in blue overalls, who sat on the gate watching them—“Tell your mother that old Simon’s wagon is here, please, and ask her if she wants anything.”
Without a word the little fellow slid down and ran into the house. Almost immediately a tall, loose-jointed man, whose resemblance to the child was marked, came out and crossed the yard.
“The missus is sick,” he explained, “but I know what she wants. She’s been talkin’ of nothin’ else for days. Buttons, five yards of calico, a pencil for the boy, and a few pounds of sugar. Got old Simon’s route for good?”
“I’m not sure. He’s sick in Yarmouth now.”
“So? That’s too bad. Are you going on up the Bay?”
“Expect to,” replied Jack, giving the man his purchases and counting out change.
“When you get to Digby would you tell the lady in the knickknack store that I’ll sell her the pitcher?”
“Glad to, if you’ll tell me how to find her.”
“Her store is the first one of its kind that you’ll pass. She catches all the tourists by a window full of trash, and a sign ‘Souvenir Shoppe’ or something like that. She was out here a few weeks ago looking for stuff, and wanted that pitcher, but the wife didn’t want to sell it then. Since she’s been sick, though, she’s more concerned about money than about old pitchers.”
After several more stops, most of which resulted in sales, Jack pulled off of the main road into a balsam grove, just before dusk.
“You children scamper around and find some dried wood for a fire,” he directed, swinging René down, and going to unharness the horses.
“Do you intend to build a fire in here, Jack?” asked Desiré doubtfully.
“No, on the sand across the road. Take some bacon and whatever else you need from the stock while I feed Dapple and Dolly.”
By the time he had made several trips with great armfuls of grass which he had pulled for the animals, Desiré had gathered together her supplies, and with the children’s help made a fire on the beach and set out their supper. When Jack appeared, he took charge of the frying of the bacon himself.
“Isn’t this fun?” demanded Priscilla every few minutes. “Just like a picnic; and lots nicer than eating in a house.”
“Lots nicer,” echoed René, adding, “Now tell me a story.”
“Oliver Owl’s mother had told him again and again that he must not go anywhere near the big cave where the wicked witch Gamona lived,” began Jack slowly; “but Oliver was getting so big and strong that he thought he knew how to take care of himself. He had never seen the old woman, of whom all the forest folks spoke in whispers. So, early one evening, his curiosity got the better of him; and while his mother was making the beds—”
“Jack!” interrupted Priscilla, patronizingly, “people don’t make beds at night!”
“The owls do,” he replied gravely, “because they sleep in them all day and go out only at night. Around the big home tree he fluttered carelessly a while; then, suddenly, off like a shot toward a big pile of rocks whose top he could just see. Not a soul did he meet when he reached them, not a sound did he hear except the murmuring of a little breeze in the very top of the pines. So fast had he hurried that he was a very tired bird, and besides the aching of his wings he felt just a little bit doubtful about what would happen to him when he got home. So he alighted on the very highest rock of the big pile to rest, and decided how he would explain his absence to his mother. Hardly had he settled himself comfortably when a huge claw-like hand shot up from below him and grabbed his feet—”
“Oh!” squealed René.
“With a loud squawk he flapped his wings, and, bending and twisting as well as he could, managed to run his sharp beak into the fingers which grasped him. In the instant which was necessary for Gamona to get a fresh grip, Oliver struggled free; and you may believe that he lost no time in flying away from that dangerous spot. Instead of going right home, however, he went to see Glooscap, and tell him what had happened.
“‘My eyes are so small, I can’t see very well,’ he complained, after he had told the whole story.
“‘I’ll fix that,’ replied Glooscap, stroking the bird’s eyes until they became larger and larger and rounder and rounder. ‘Now you’ll be able to see her wherever you are. Keep faithful watch of her, and notify all the other creatures at night when she is near.’ So that is why the owl has such big eyes, and sits up in the trees crying ‘Who-o-o!’ all night long.
“And now you must go to bed.”
Leaving Priscilla to clear up and keep an eye on René, Jack and Desiré crossed to the grove to get things in order for the night. The tent was small, and after several unsuccessful attempts they succeeded in getting it up. Jack cut some balsam boughs for a mattress, and over them Desiré spread blankets, placing a couple of cushions for pillows. The floor of the nearby wagon was fixed in like manner for the two girls. René and Priscilla went to bed as soon as their quarters were ready for them, but Jack and Desiré, seated on a fallen log at the edge of the grove, lingered to watch the moon rising over the Bay and turning its smooth surface to silver. Fireflies flashed in the long grass at the edge of the grove, and deeper in the woods were mysterious little rustles and murmurs.
“The old settlers,” said Jack softly, “thought the fireflies were evil spirits, and used to set out pails of milk to appease them, and thus keep themselves and their property from all harm.”
“If they were as thick then as they are tonight,” laughed Desiré, “think how many pails they must have had. You know so many things, Jack”; adding, a moment later, something which had been on her mind all day.
“Do you suppose that man will ever come back?”
“You mean the one who disputed our rights?”
Desiré nodded, burying her face on her brother’s shoulder, much as Priscilla might have done.
“I hardly think so, dear,” replied Jack, stroking her curls. “He was pretty well subdued.”
“But he might try to get even with you some way,” shuddered the girl.
“We’ll keep a sharp lookout for him, but otherwise go on our way and try not to worry about mere possibilities, little sister,” decreed the boy firmly.
“If we could only find out what the paper means,” she observed a little later, her eyes on the shining waters of the Bay.
“What
