“We could have a little tent for you and René at night. Prissy and I could easily sleep in the wagon. It would be no different from camping, Jack; and lots of people do that.”
“What about winter?”
“Well, of course we couldn’t live that way after it gets real cold, but winter’s a long way off. Maybe we’d make enough by then to rent a couple of rooms in some central place and take just day trips. Or perhaps we’ll find out what that paper means, and have—who knows what?”
Jack shook his head.
“Seriously, Desiré, I don’t see how we can make a living from a traveling store. Simon does, of course; but there is only one of him, and four of us.”
“But,” resumed the girl, after a short pause, “we have no place to go if Nicolas forecloses; we don’t know how else to support ourselves; so wouldn’t traveling around the country all summer give us a chance to see all kinds of places and people? Mightn’t we get in touch with possibilities for the future? Our living expenses would be small; for we could gather wild things to eat—”
“A few bears, or owls, I suppose,” laughed her brother.
“No, silly! Berries, and—and grapes, and things.”
“Heavy diet.”
“And fish,” concluded Desiré triumphantly.
“Another thing,” continued Jack, resuming his gravity, “you wouldn’t want to spoil old Simon’s route by taking some of his customers.”
“Of course not, but there certainly must be sections where there is no traveling store. We could take one of those.”
Just then a heavy knock on the front door startled them both.
CHAPTER III
TWO CALLERS
When Jack opened the door, Nicolas Bouchard stood frowning before him.
“Oh, come in, Nicolas,” he urged hospitably.
“Can’t; it’s too late; but saw you were still up, and wanted to tell you that I just had a message from Yves and he wants to take possession of this place at once. Think you could be out by this day week?”
“How do you know we aren’t going to pay off the mortgage?” flashed Desiré, annoyed at the man for taking things so for granted.
Nicolas gave a grunt. “What with? Don’t get mad. We all know you haven’t got any money. Glad to have you pay if you could, for you’ve always been good neighbors; but a man’s got to take care of his pennies. They’re not so plentiful now as they were when I took that mortgage.”
“Certainly, Nicolas,” said Jack, quietly laying a restraining hand on Desiré’s arm. “You may have the house a week from today.”
The man lingered rather awkwardly.
“Felice said she’d be willing to keep the two little ones, so as you and this girl could go to Boston, and find work—”
Desiré started to speak, but Jack’s hold on her arm tightened.
“They pay good wages there, I’m told,” the man went on. “Or, if you could find some place for the rest, Yves said he’d be glad to have you stay on here and help him farm.”
“We are indeed grateful for the kindness of our friends,” replied Jack; “but we have decided that we must all stick together, some way.”
Nicolas turned without another word, and strode down the shell-bordered path to the road, and Jack closed the door. In silent dismay the brother and sister faced each other; then the girl’s courage reasserted itself.
“Never mind, dear,” she cried, putting both arms around him. “We’ll surely find something. As nôtre mère used to say so often, ‘let’s sleep on it.’ Things always look lots brighter in the morning.”
“You’re such a good little pal, Dissy. We’ll say an extra prayer tonight for help, and tomorrow we’ll try to decide upon something definite.”
Late the following afternoon Desiré stood on the doorstep, watching Priscilla hopping down the dusty road to see a little friend. Early that morning Jack had gone to Meteghan to settle up affairs with Nicolas and Yves, and, to please Desiré, to price an outfit for a traveling store. The sisters, greatly hindered by René, had spent the day going over keepsakes and household belongings of all kinds, trying to decide what they would keep and what they must dispose of.
“Are you going to sell all our things, Dissy? Even Mother’s chair?”
“I’m afraid so, dear. You see we can’t carry furniture around with us when we don’t know where or how we are going to live. You have her little silver locket for a keepsake, and I have her prayerbook. We really don’t need anything to remember her by.”
“No; and Jack has nôtre père’s watch. But, oh, I—I wish we weren’t going. I’m sort of afraid!”
“Afraid!” chided Desiré, although her own heart was filled with the nameless dread which often accompanies a contemplated change. “With dear old Jack to take care of us? I’m ashamed of you! We’re going to have just lots of good times together. Try not to let Jack know that you mind. Remember, Prissy, it’s far harder on him to be obliged to give up all his own plans and hopes to take care of us, than it is for you and me to make some little sacrifices and pretend we like them.”
“Ye-es,” agreed Priscilla slowly, trying to measure up to what was expected of her.
“What’s the matter with Prissy?” demanded René, deserting his play and coming to stand in front of them. “Has she got a pain?”
“A kind of one,” replied Desiré gently, “but it’s getting better now; so go on with what you were doing, darling.”
The child returned to the corner of the room where he had been making a wagon from spools and a pasteboard box, while Priscilla murmured, “I’ll try not to fuss about things.”
“That’s a brave girl,” commended her sister. “Now, you’ve been in all day; so suppose you run down to see Felice for a little while. Maybe you’ll meet Jack on the way home, but don’t wait for him later than half past five.”
The little girl was almost out of sight when Desiré’s attention was diverted to the opposite direction by the sound of an automobile, apparently coming from Digby. Motor cars were still sufficiently new in Nova Scotia to excuse her waiting to see it pass. Only the well-to-do people owned them, and she had never even had a ride in one. There were rumors that possibly that very summer a bus line would be run to the various interesting parts of the country for the convenience of tourists from the States. Then she might be able to ride a little way, if it didn’t cost too much, just to see how it felt.
A ramshackle Ford jerked to a sudden halt right in front of the house, and a tall, thin man backed carefully out from the driver’s seat and ambled up the path toward her.
“Mademoiselle Wistmore?” he inquired, bashfully removing his blue woolen cap and thrusting it under his arm.
“Oui, Monsieur.”
“My name’s Pierre Boisdeau,” he drawled, taking the cap out from under his arm and rolling it nervously between his two big hands.
“Yes?” replied Desiré encouragingly.
“I have a message for you,” pushing the long-suffering cap into his pocket as he spoke.
The girl seated herself upon the broad stone step, and with a gesture invited the stranger to do the same; but he merely placed one foot upon the scraper beside the step, and began in halting embarrassed fashion to deliver his message.
After he had gone, Desiré fairly raced through preparations for supper; then went to look up the road again. If Jack would only come! René