“But my team—” began Jack.
The man cut him short. “I’ll look after it. Go in and go to bed. The missus will show you where.”
A big dim room, with one flickering lamp; a woman wrapped in a shawl, standing in a doorway opening into another room; several figures, each rolled in a blanket and lying near the fireplace—such a sight greeted Jack as he entered.
“Here’s a blanket,” said the woman. “You can lie wherever you like in this room.”
She disappeared at once, and the boy spread the blanket on the floor a little beyond the other dark, motionless figures. He rolled himself in the blanket, and, using the mail bag for a pillow, tried to sleep. Being exhausted, in spite of the hard bed he dropped off almost as soon as the man came in from caring for the team.
In the morning he felt stiff and sore, and his head ached, due to sleeping on the floor, he supposed. His host and hostess greeted him as casually as if he had been dropping in there every night, and offered him breakfast.
“My name’s De Vigne,” said the man, as they sat down to the table.
The three dark figures of last night still lay rolled up beside the hearth, and Jack kept looking at them as he gave his host a brief account of his adventures. Finally, curiosity getting the better of him, he ventured, “Those fellows sick?”
“Yes,” answered De Vigne, glancing carelessly at them. “Flu, I guess. One of them is our hired man. The other fellows dropped in here last night a few hours ahead of you.”
Jack was a brave boy, with no foolish dread of illness; but the flu! The disease which had deprived them of their father, of that he was afraid; not so much on his own account, but because of Desiré. Poor girl, she must be half frantic by now. If he’d only had some way of getting word to her. He must lose no time in starting out again.
Mr. De Vigne gave him the necessary directions for getting back on his route again, and an hour later he was delivering the letters which had taken him to that lonely section. Then he headed for home.
The sun came out and the snowy fields became dazzling. If only his head wouldn’t ache so hard, and his stomach feel so queer. Probably when he got some of Desiré’s good cooking, he’d be all right. Yesterday he hadn’t eaten much, and he had been able to swallow very little of the breakfast provided this morning by the De Vignes. Encouraging himself in every way he could, he managed to drive all the way back; and in the middle of the afternoon, put the team in its place. As he was leaving the barn, he met the judge who had hurried out as soon as he caught sight of the open door.
“By Jove, boy!” he began; then stopped. “You’re sick! Come right in and go to bed. We’ll take care of you.”
“Desiré,” faltered Jack, swaying a little in the judge’s grasp.
“I’ll get her—Jonas! Come here and help me!”
With the aid of the hired man, the judge soon had Jack in bed in the room next to his own, and had sent for the doctor. Madam Lovemore was rushing around, heating bottles, and preparing broth. The trusty Ford never made such good time as it did going down to the cabin and back. The snow flew in all directions as the judge forced the machine through it. Desiré, worn and terrified by her night of fruitless watching, almost fainted when the judge appeared and told her his story. Jack’s needs, however, forced her to make a desperate effort to be calm. In a very short time the judge deposited her and the two children on his own doorstep.
“We’ve plenty of room,” he decreed, “and you must all stay here until the boy’s well.”
“He’s asleep now, my dear,” was Madam Lovemore’s greeting as she kissed Desiré in the hall. “The doctor’s been here; and while he’s not positive, yet he thinks it’s just a heavy cold.”
All the hours of waiting, the anxiety, the shock, resulted in one wild burst of tears when Desiré peered in at Jack, sleeping heavily, his face red, his lips drawn in tense lines. Madam Lovemore led her hastily into a room on the opposite side of the hall, and closed the door. Sitting down in a big rocker, she drew the girl into her lap as if she had been René, and let her cry.
“I’m—sorry—” gasped Desiré presently.
“It’s only natural, you poor little girl. Have your cry out, and you’ll feel lots better. Then we’ll make some plans.”
Jack slept most of the day, waking once to smile feebly at Desiré who was bending over him. She could not trust herself to speak, and only kissed him tenderly.
Under the care of good Dr. Caronne, and with the help of the delicious, nourishing foods prepared by Madam Lovemore, and the combined nursing of the entire household, Jack escaped the flu. After a couple of days he was able to get up, and a week later the Wistmores returned to their own home; and Jack went back to work.
“We can never, never hope to repay what they have done for us,” said Jack gravely, when they were talking of the kindness of their host and hostess that night. “You children must remember that, and do everything you can for them, every little thing.”
“I will,” announced René solemnly. “I’m goin’ to marry Mad’m Lovemore when I grow up.”
“I’m sure,” said Jack, “that would be a wonderful way to repay her.”
During the rest of the winter Jack used snowshoes for delivering the mail, and Desiré was so fascinated by them that she learned to use her brother’s when he did not need them. One day when he came from Windsor he brought her a pair, and suggested that whenever he went on short trips, she accompany him. She was delighted, and quite often after that she left René at the judge’s, and went skimming over the snow with her beloved brother, dearer now than ever after the fear of losing him.
“It’s so mild out that I shouldn’t be surprised if we had rain,” announced Jack, when he came in from his day’s work one night late in the winter.
“Rain!” exclaimed Priscilla. “Why, it’s still winter.”
However, Jack proved to be a good weather prophet; for when they woke up the following morning, rain was falling steadily, and the snow looked soft and dirty. That was the beginning of the break-up of winter. Each day the sun rose higher and its rays became warmer; and each day more of the snow melted, softening the ground and filling streams, large and small, to the very brim.
The winds were softer and warmer; the birds returned and began looking for home sites; and the air was alive with their calls. From the new green of the marshes came the continuous croaking of frogs. Then the first wild flowers slipped quietly into bloom; the fruit trees pushed out bud after bud until they were covered with fragrant blossoms. Nova Scotia had come to active life again after the hard winter.
The day Priscilla brought in a cluster of arbutus, there was a general rejoicing. The delicate pink blossom is greatly prized by the people of Nova Scotia, and has been made the national flower.
“The darlings!” cried Desiré, holding the tiny flowers close to her nose in order to inhale their dainty fragrance.
“Up in the woods of Prince Edward Island the Indians will be very busy now that the Mayflower—for that is the other name for arbutus—has come,” observed Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla, putting her bouquet carefully in water.
“As soon as the flowers appear, the young Indian braves search carefully for the finest specimens they can find to throw at the woman they want to marry. It is one of their regular customs; so you can imagine how excited the maidens are at this time of the year.”
“What a pretty custom,” said Desiré; but the practical, unromantic Priscilla thought it very funny, and so expressed herself as she placed the vase in the center of the table.
“And where are the Indians?” demanded René.
“Nowhere near here; so don’t go looking