Chapter II: Part 2

“Yes; _Anne of Green Gables_, and all the rest of them, by L. M. Montgomery. If you have never read them, your education has been neglected; and you should remedy the defect. I read the whole series over twice, and I think I could enjoy reading them again if there were not so many things to be read.”

“What rolling country it is,” remarked Miss Ashton a little later. “I have heard that there is scarcely a half mile stretch of level land; and there are two mountain ranges, one on the west coast, and one on the north.”

“The character of the country surprises me,” said Jeanette. “For no good reason at all, I have always pictured it as flat.”

At Digby, nearly all the travelers got out for ice cream cones.

“Now, Nan,” warned Jeanette, “you know your weakness for missing trains. _Please_ don’t go too far.”

They were wandering back to the station, when Nancy’s eye was caught by some post cards attractively displayed in the window of a small store.

“Go on, Janie,”’ she said. “I’ll snatch just a couple of these and catch up with you.”

“But don’t stay a minute,” cautioned Jeanette, walking on. “It’s nearly time for the train to start.”

She boarded the train, but stood on the platform looking anxiously up the road.

The whistles blew, the bell rang, and the train began to get under way; but no Nancy. At that moment she was seen running down the street for dear life. Luckily for her, it was necessary at that point for the train to slow up to round a curve; and she succeeded in swinging herself onto the steps of the last car.

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay,” Jeanette cried, fairly shaking Nancy, when she finally reached the platform on which her friend was waiting. “You might have been killed, getting onto a moving train like that! You’re not going to get off ever again!”

“Poor Nannie,” said Martha, who had overheard the last words, “you won’t be able then to get off with us at Halifax.”

“Seriously, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, “you must be more careful. Suppose you had been left in that strange town in an unfamiliar country.”

For once, Nancy had no reply ready; for, to tell the truth, she had been more than a little frightened herself when she saw the train begin to move.

*CHAPTER V*

*HALIFAX*

“Halifax!” called the conductor; and everybody filed out of the train onto the platform, where all the baggage was piled on big trucks to be taken through the station and out to the taxicab entrance.

Martha was inclined to worry a bit about her two bags—she didn’t like to let them out of her sight; but Nancy and Jeanette, who had seen the same process in Chicago, assured her that she had no need for anxiety.

“Don’t you feel real important when you can say, ‘they did this or that in such and such a place’?” whispered Nancy to Jeanette as they followed the crowd to the exit at the end of the station, where the taxi platform was located. Jeanette admitted that she did.

At the outer edge of the platform was a railing over which leaned, facing them, a crowd of taxicab drivers, each shouting the name of the particular hotel he covered. It was a veritable bedlam, and nothing could be done but listen to it until the baggage was brought out.

“We had better have two cabs, I think,” said Miss Ashton, “on account of our numerous bags. Martha and I will take this one, and you two can follow in the next.”

The cab which came up to the steps immediately after she and Martha had driven off, was quickly claimed by another party; so the girls had to wait for the next. They signaled to one as it approached; but as soon as it drew up, a tall woman, who apparently sprang from nowhere, stepped out ahead of the girls and into the cab.

Jeanette ventured to remark, “_We_ called this cab,” and the taxi men looked at one another and smiled. The girls hesitated; but the woman leaned forward and said to Nancy: “You are going to the Lord Nelson Hotel; aren’t you?”

“Why, yes——”

“Then we may as well go up together,” and she settled firmly back in the corner of the cab.

There was nothing else to be done; so Nancy got in, and Jeanette followed her.

The baggage was piled in front, and soon they were off up the steep streets leading to the hotel. The stranger, apparently an English woman, talked entertainingly of her trip across, the gifts which had been sent to her stateroom when she sailed, and of Halifax which she had not visited in several years. When they drew up at the hotel, which is opposite the beautiful Public Gardens, she paid her share of the charges, took her one smart-looking bag, and walked away down the street, murmuring something about taking a walk.

“Of all queer women!” observed Jeanette. “Why on earth doesn’t she go in and dispose of the bag?”

A boy took their bags up to the room which had been reserved for them; and as Nancy felt for her purse, she gasped a little and whispered to Jeanette, “You tip him.”

“Janie!” she exclaimed, as soon as the door was closed, “I’ve lost my purse. I didn’t look for it when we were getting out of the cab, because you paid our share; and now I haven’t it.”

“Was there much in it?”

“Oh, no; about $2.50, I think. You know I never keep much in it when we’re traveling.”

“But when did you have it last?”

“I know I had it when we were in the station.”

The girls looked at each other, their thoughts apparently traveling in the same direction.

“I do hate to suspect anybody,” said Nan, “but I am awfully suspicious of our queer-acting traveling companion.”

Martha and Miss Ashton entered just in time to hear the last words, and asked for an explanation.

“I’m afraid there is nothing to be done, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, after hearing the story. “You are fortunate that there was not much in it.”

“Indeed I am; and I’m not going to worry about it. It is to avoid worry of that kind, that I carry so little money in my purse; then if it does get lost, it’s not especially important. What’s our immediate program?”

“Unpack, perhaps,” suggested their chaperon.

“If you don’t mind,” said Nancy, “I’d like to leave that until dinner time; and run out for a few minutes. We needn’t start to dress for an hour or so, and I should like to look around a bit. I never feel at home in a new place until I’ve had a walk.”

“It looks a lot like rain,” objected Jeanette; “and a fog is beginning to fall.”

“Well, we won’t go far; and we’ve been out in dampness before, Janie dear.”

So the three girls, after consulting some attractive souvenir advertisements in a folder, started out; while Miss Ashton remained to unpack, and rest a bit before dinner. They wandered along the street next to the hotel, stopping to look in various windows at amethysts, which were displayed in great profusion.

“I never saw so many amethysts in all my life,” said Martha. “Why do they make so much of them here?”

“Oh, the folder said that there is a mine of them at Cape Blomidon, and every tourist buys at least one. Look; there is a mass just as it was taken from the mine,” and Nancy pointed to a large piece, looking much like rock salt, except that it was lavender and the crystals were of varying sizes. For some minutes they rambled along, admiring the fine old English houses and estates.

“I think we had better turn back now,” proposed Jeanette. “It always takes longer to unpack and dress than one counts on; and I imagine Miss Ashton would like to get in for dinner a little early.”

“Just a minute,” begged Martha. “Let’s go just a little ways down this next street. Or you two go back if you want to; I’ll catch up with you.”

So they parted. Before the two girls got very far, it began to rain very heavily; and they discovered that Martha was carrying their one umbrella.

“Come on, Jeanette; we’ll have to run!” cried Nancy, catching her by the hand.

With several stops to rest, in sheltered doorways, they at last reached the hotel. By this time a dense fog shut down. The street lights, which had been turned on, looked like ghostly globes; and cabs and people were dim shapes.

“Where is Martha?” asked Miss Ashton, when they entered their rooms.

“I’m really rather worried about her,” added Jeanette, after they had explained.

“She’ll find her way back all right,” maintained Nancy. They were all anxious, however, when half an hour passed, and still no Martha. Miss Ashton was about to go down to the office for advice, when the girl rushed in; and Nancy and Jeanette plied her with all kinds of questions.

“I was all right,” she gasped, “until that blamed fog came up.”

“Came down,” corrected Nancy.

“I wandered about trying to find my way, and getting more and more lost every minute. Finally I ran into a man in uniform, and asked him to set me on my way. I thought he looked a bit familiar; and who was he but the purser from our steamer. He’s awfully nice, and he came all the way to the hotel with me!”

“Martha! Martha! I’ll certainly have to chaperon you more carefully,” laughed Miss Ashton. “However, all’s well that ends well. Now hurry, and dress for dinner. We didn’t have much on the train this noon; and I, for one, am hungry.”

After dinner they wandered about the hotel for an hour, and then went to bed.

“We must be up and ready to start at eight thirty,” was Miss Ashton’s good night instruction.

Promptly at that hour, they took their seats with a few other people in the roomy, comfortable bus.

“My name is James Jackson,” announced the conductor, as he checked up the list of passengers, “but most people call me ‘Jim.’”

Soon they were out of the city and on the open road leading to Chester and Bridgewater, on the southeastern coast. The roads ran up and down hills constantly, and around all kinds of curves, crossing and recrossing the railroad over which they had ridden the day before.

“This is heaps of fun!” cried Nancy, as they rolled down one particularly long slope. “It’s just like a great roller coaster. I hope there are lots of roads like this.”

“So many you’ll get tired of them,” commented the driver, without enthusiasm.

“No danger at all!”

A beautiful lake suddenly appeared on the right, and soon was left behind; then acres and acres of pasture land, dotted with cattle, stretched out on either side.

“Oh!” squealed Nancy suddenly. “Did you see _that_?”

“What?” inquired the others eagerly, looking back to see what they had missed.

“That tiny little black and white calf in the corner of that meadow. He was scratching his nose with his hind paw——”

A burst of laughter interrupted her.

“But he did,” she persisted, when she could make herself heard. “And it was too cute for anything!”

“It wasn’t that,” explained Jeanette, “it was because you called his hoof a paw.”

“Well, how should I know its proper name. I’m not a farmer, and don’t pretend to be.”

“I wonder if there is duty on calves,” commented Jeanette in mock seriousness. “Perhaps you would like to take the dear little fellow home with us, if the farmer would sell him.”

Everybody laughed; for Nancy was always wanting to “take home with her” all kinds of animals, and was prevented from maintaining a small zoo only by the fact that her family wouldn’t tolerate it.

The bus shot through the pine woods, and out again to roll smoothly along the edge of a large body of water.

“This is Mahone Bay,” said the driver; “and that island is Oak Island where Captain Kidd is supposed to have buried some of his treasure.”

“Oh,” cried Martha. “How I’d love to go out to it. Could we?”

“On the way back we stop here for lunch,” said the driver, as they entered the town of Chester. “Perhaps you could get some fisherman to take you out.”

“What do you expect to do there, Mart?” laughed Jeanette. “Find some of the treasure?”

“I might. Who knows? And wouldn’t I have the laugh on you if I _did_!”

“Look,” said Miss Ashton, as they stopped in front of the inn for a moment and the driver went in to give notice of the number of guests he would have stopping there for lunch, “that woman is doing her marketing with a pail instead of a basket.”

Sure enough a tall, thin woman, primly dressed in an old-fashioned looking garment of dull calico, was going from one store to another, and piling meat, groceries, fruit, and notions into a large tin pail which hung on her arm.

On the way to Bridgewater they ran in and out of fog constantly. Sometimes the air would be perfectly clear, and the sun shining brightly. Then suddenly the fog would shut down so heavily that they could hardly see to the edge of the beach.

“Isn’t this queer?” said Martha. “At home either we have fog or we don’t.”

“That’s the way it is here, too,” replied the driver, smiling over his shoulder at Nancy; and Martha could not understand why they all laughed. Then he went on to explain that it was because they changed “levels” so constantly, that they “had the fog” or “didn’t have it” in such rapid succession.

“This is Lunenburg,” he explained presently, as they ascended a hill into a small, prosperous-looking town. “It is famous for the building of deep-sea fishing vessels. Out there,” pointing to the expanse of water below them, “is the Lunenburg Harbor. There are some boats ready for use; some ready for the masts; and on the shore are others just begun. Notice that the prows are all painted blue; for they are known as ‘Bluenose Boats.’”

“I have heard that term so many times since we landed,” said Miss Ashton, “and I never heard it before. For example, the train we came on yesterday is called the ‘Bluenose Special.’ What is the origin, and significance?”

“The name dates back to the American Revolution,” explained Jim. “Certain families who were direct descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers emigrated to Nova Scotia during the war. These were known as Bluenose families; and the term came to be used more generally later on as a mark of high quality.”

On the way back to Chester they passed an enclosed wagon with two doors at the back. “That,” said Jim, “is a traveling store. It carries everything from crackers to kerosene.”

“How very _funny_!” exploded Martha, leaning out of the window a bit to get another look.

“Be careful,” warned Miss Ashton. “That is always dangerous.”

“She might fall out!” laughed Nancy.

“How could anyone fall out of the window!” Martha was indignant again.

“Many of the people of this country,” continued the driver, “live at great distances from stores; and as the automobile is not yet so common as it is in the States, they find it difficult to get to the towns to buy what they need.”

As they drove along, they passed another traveling store standing in front of a small house; and from it the proprietor was taking several garments on hangers.

“That fellow,” said the driver, “operates a ready-to-wear shop. Most of them do not limit their lines; they carry everything. He believes in specializing.”

“Wouldn’t it be convenient to have things brought in instead of having to go after them,” said Jeanette.

“Not for you, Janie,” laughed Nancy. “You’d need a whole procession of wagons. She goes through one store after another before she finds anything to suit her,” she explained to the driver.

On their return trip, they stopped at Chester for lunch at the Lovett House. It is one hundred and fifty years old, and has been in the hands of the family of the present owners for one hundred and two years. There are steps up into this room, and down into that one. The old wall paper is patterned in hunting scenes; and the whole house is filled with delightful, old-fashioned furniture. The side porch is built right around the trunk of an immense tree.

“Now for Captain Kidd’s island,” said Martha after lunch. “We can go; can’t we?” she appealed to the driver, as the girls laughed at her.

“I could get someone to take them out,” he replied, looking at Miss Ashton for assent.

“If you have time to indulge her whim,” she replied, “I have no objections to make.”

Before very long the girls and Miss Ashton were in a small launch manned by an old fisherman, and headed for Oak Island. It was a forlorn-looking spot when they reached it, much of it covered by trees and brush, and the rest of it holes of various shapes and depths.

“Apparently you’re not the first one who has entertained hopes of becoming wealthy, Mart,” said Nancy, peering into one immense excavation.

“I wouldn’t care so much about getting rich,” she replied, “if I could find even one coin to take home. Imagine, having even _one_ souvenir from Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

“Of course, Mart,” said Jeanette practically, “it is not a certainty that he even buried any of it here.”

“Anyway, if at first you don’t succeed,” began Nancy, “you know the rest of it.”

They prowled around for about twenty minutes, and then wandered back toward the launch.

“Did you look into this hole, Mart?” asked Nancy, pointing to a wide, shallow one near by. “It doesn’t go very deep. This particular excavator lost heart early in the game.”

“No, I missed that.”

Martha went to inspect it, while the rest strolled on. A cry of delight and surprise from Martha made them turn suddenly. She was running toward them so eagerly that she did not see a twisted root in the path. Her foot caught in it, and down she went, rolling over and over down the slope to their very feet. They picked her up with anxious questions as to the extent of her injuries, trying hard not to laugh; for she had presented a very funny spectacle.

“I’m—all—right,” she gasped. “Don’t bother. But look.”

She opened one hand, which she had kept tightly closed in spite of her catastrophe. In the palm lay an earth-stained, blackened coin!

“I saw the edge of it sticking out from one side of the hole, and I could hardly believe my eyes when I pulled it out! Just think of my having been so very lucky!”

She could talk of nothing else for some time on the return trip, and the others tried to share her enthusiasm.

Jim examined the coin closely when they returned to the Lovett House, and then congratulated Martha on her good fortune. As he cleverly swung the big bus around the corner, and on the road out of Chester, he looked searchingly down at Nancy who was sitting beside him. She flushed a bit, but her eyes were dancing with mischief.

“What would you give to know?” she asked teasingly, in a low voice.

“Nothing!” he replied. “For I’m sure I have solved the problem.”

“How?”

“Two and two always make four. The first two is the fact that I once had a hobby of collecting coins, and I recognize many specimens; and I _know_ that this one is not a part of the notorious Captain’s treasure.”

“And the other two?”

“That a certain person is fond of playing jokes.”

“I fear you know altogether too much.”

Jim laughed, but made no further comments. He did not always have such congenial people to “conduct”; and he was enjoying himself immensely.

“Gathering blueberries seems to be quite a business here,” observed Miss Ashton. “I have seen several old men and women with bowls, pitchers, or other containers; and many children with tin cups or pails.”

“It is,” answered Jim. “The people of all ages go out in berry season and gather all they can. A big truck makes the rounds of the scattered houses every day, and picks up the fruit. Most of it is then shipped from Yarmouth to Boston. The cargo of the steamer you go back on will be largely blueberries.”

“What are the winters like here?” inquired Miss Ashton. “Rather bleak, I should imagine.”

“They are really very much like Boston, except in the interior, where they get more snow, and farther up north, toward Truro, where it is considerably colder. The settlements, you will notice, are pretty much around the edge of the country; the center is still rather wild. And have you noticed the bundles of wood lying along the roadside?”

“Yes; and I have been wondering about them.”

“From time to time the people fell small trees, or find dry wood which they gather into bundles, and leave to be picked up ‘some day’ when they are passing with an empty cart. That is their winter’s supply.”

They were proceeding very slowly just then, as the road was more crooked than usual; and was upgrade.

“How——” began Miss Ashton, when a scream from Jeanette startled everyone.

“Martha has fallen out!” she cried.

Jim stopped the bus instantly. They looked back, and there sat Martha in the middle of the road, covered with dust, and wearing a most pathetically bewildered expression.

They all got out and ran back to assist her.

“What in the world happened?” inquired Nancy, brushing Martha off after Jim had set her on her feet.

“Happened!” exploded Martha. “Plain enough to be seen, I should think. I fell out!”

Everybody screamed with laughter.

“Yes, but——” began Nancy, and went off into another gale of merriment.

“Now please tell us just how you happened to fall, Martha,” said Miss Ashton, when they were all in the bus again, and on their way.

“I got awfully sleepy,” said Martha, rather sheepishly, “and I thought I’d go and sit in the back seat and take a little nap where nobody would disturb me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the road and the bus was going on without me. I _did_ hope you’d discover that I was missing before you went very far.”

“But how on earth did you get out?” persisted Miss Ashton.

“That back door is almost never used, except in emergencies,” interrupted the driver. “It may not have been closed tightly; and she probably fell against it when she was asleep——”

“That was an emergency, all right,” commented Nancy.

“Now, Martha,” warned Jeanette, as they drew up before the hotel in Halifax, “you have had two falls. Do be careful during the rest of our trip.”

There was an hour to spare before it was time to dress for dinner, and the girls spent it wandering around the Public Gardens. A rambling stream, stone bridges, duck ponds filled with water fowl, immense trees, great flower beds of all shapes in which are blended, in striking color combinations, blossoms of all kinds, make it a most attractive place to spend hours; and the girls heartily regretted that time would not permit them to linger.

“But it is just as well we did not have any more time to walk about the gardens,” said Jeanette, as they were preparing for bed. “I am tired to death now.”

“I am too,” replied Nancy; “but I do hope that the bell buoy in the harbor does not keep me awake to-night. Even in my sleep I heard that monotonous ‘ding-dong’ last night.”

“Well, try to sleep anyhow,” advised Jeanette; “for to-morrow will be our biggest day——”

“Oh, yes,” cried Martha, “to-morrow we see Evangeline——”

Then, as a laugh interrupted her, she went on indignantly, “I don’t know why you all laugh every time I open my mouth. I’m not going to say another word!”

“Until next time,” called Nancy, as Martha went into her own room.

*CHAPTER VI*

*THE LAND OF EVANGELINE*

“We have an addition to our party to-day,” said Jim when they went out to the bus the following morning.

“Who?” inquired Nancy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bond, ardent collectors of antiques. They go only as far as Kentville, however.”

The newcomers proved to be a very interesting, middle-aged couple, full of information on many subjects besides their hobby, and a real asset on any sight-seeing trip.

“Isn’t it queer,” commented Nancy after they had ridden for a few miles, “how we are sort of on the outside trying to look in?”

“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Martha. “On the outside of what, looking in?”

“Why, it’s difficult to explain clearly; but we’re riding through this country peering at everything and trying to guess what the people are like from what we see. It is rather trying to complete a picture with many of the principal parts missing. If you know what I mean,” she laughed a little confusedly, seeing plainly from Martha’s expression that she, for one, didn’t know.

But the driver smiled understandingly at Nancy. He knew what she was trying to say. Long ere this she had discovered that Jim was a senior at Harvard, and drove a bus only during the summer vacation. He had been desperately lonely in this country, where he knew no one; and the pretty, lively college girl was a godsend.

“One thing we can be reasonably sure of,” commented Miss Ashton, “is their fondness for flowers. The front windows of so many of the houses are filled with plants, so arranged that the blossoms reach to the very top of the panes.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said Jeanette, “and in one house the cellar windows were also filled. Indoors they use mostly geraniums; and they seem to be splendid specimens. What a task it must be to attend to all those plants!”

“Even the poorest looking dwelling has its garden; and if there is a stump or unsightly rock, it is surrounded with nasturtiums,” said Mrs. Bond. “Those bits of bright color, dropped carelessly here and there, are very effective in this land of green trees and gray houses.”

“I wonder why all the houses are that peculiar dull gray,” said Martha. “They look positively ashen.”

“They are built of shingles and whitewashed,” explained Jim. “The whitewash wears off, and leaves the house a dirty gray. And, by the way, you will notice that many of the houses are shingled on one or two sides, and finished with clapboards on the others. Why, I don’t know, I’m sorry to say.”

“To return to the subject of flowers,” said Mrs. Bond, “we have been wondering if the people’s love of them is not a kind of a reflection of the land itself. I have never seen so many kinds and such quantities of wild flowers.”

“That is true,” agreed Miss Ashton. “We have been reveling especially in the profusion of wild roses along the roads.”

“They tell me,” said Jim, turning slightly toward Mrs. Bond, “that in the proper season there are such quantities of arbutus here, or Mayflower as some call it, that it has been adopted as the emblem of Nova Scotia, along with the motto, ‘We bloom amid the snows.’ It is gathered and sold in all public places; and everybody wears or carries some as long as it lasts. Every office, they say, every store, every house has its bouquet of arbutus.”

“What a pretty custom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bond.

“This is Windsor,” said the driver, as they entered a lovely town on the river Avon. “It was an Acadian village; and at Fort Edward, which was built after the country fell into the hands of the British, were drawn up the plans for the expulsion of the Acadians.”

They drove up the lovely wooded slopes where King’s College was established in 1787, and where it continued as the oldest colonial university in the British Empire until very recently, when it was removed to Halifax. A private school for boys still uses the original chapel for its religious exercises.

“A most famous judge of Nova Scotia, Thomas Haliburton by name,” went on the driver as they left the old buildings behind, “was also quite an author, under the nom de plume of Sam Slick. His best known book is called ‘The Clock Maker.’ It is regarded as a classic, and its humor is said to rival that of Dickens himself in the Pickwick Papers. This is his house, which we are approaching, and where he wrote his books. It is known as the ‘Sam Slick House’ and is open to the public.”

The party was met at the low porch (upon which was an old-fashioned scraper for removing mud from one’s shoes) by the hostess, a charming woman, who showed them through the house. The living room, into which the outside door opened, was paneled in oak halfway to the ceiling, and upon it were hung various old-fashioned articles.

“What is this for?” asked Nancy, examining a covered brass pan, at the end of a long wooden handle.

“That is a warming pan,” explained the hostess. “They used to put hot coals inside, and run the pan under the bedclothes a few times to take the chill off the sheets before one went to bed in severe weather. You know in those days there was no steam heat; and most bedrooms were entirely unheated.”

“And this, please?” asked Jeanette, fingering a metal plate which seemed to be double, with a small lip-like opening at one side.

“That? You put hot water in there,” pointing to the opening, “and set plates on it to keep warm.”

They gazed admiringly at the lovely gate-legged tables, fire screen, hunting prints, and numerous other treasures; and then, through a door at the back of the room, entered a narrow hall which ran across the width of the house. On the opposite side opened the dining room, where one may order refreshments, and the library where the judge’s bookcases and desk are still standing. The woodwork of the hall was all painted in the peculiar Acadian blue; and from either end of the hall, there was a staircase leading to the rooms of the second floor.

“The judge built this house himself,” said the hostess, as they crossed the oval rugs of braided blue and green straw, and went up the quaint narrow stairs, “and he thought the rooms upstairs should be entirely separate; so here are the ones on the right side of the house. But you will have to go down again, and up the stairs at the other end of the hall, to get to the rooms on the left of the house.”

“How very funny!” exclaimed Nancy, as they peered into the cretonne-hung rooms, with their casement windows opening into the very tree tops, their four-poster beds, and old-fashioned pictures. In one room, apparently occupied by some favored individual, there was a tiny air-tight stove.

“Here is something I didn’t notice when we came up,” said Mrs. Bond, stopping on the landing on their way down, before a tall grandfather’s clock.

The place was a veritable treasure trove for anyone interested in antiques, and she and her husband were just reveling in their finds, examining every article closely, and showing that their hobby was no mere pose. They had a genuine love for old things.

“And here is another kind,” said her husband, pointing to the opposite wall, where hung a big, round clock with heavy weights dangling from it.

“Now, that’s just the kind of clock I always imagined the mouse must have run up,” cried Nancy, “although I never saw one before.”

“The mouse?” repeated Martha, in a puzzled tone. “What mouse?”

Nancy laughed.

“Why the one in the old rhyme, ‘Hickery-dickory-dock; the mouse ran up the clock.’”

Mr. and Mrs. Bond exchanged glances of tolerant amusement. If there were many college girls like the ones in this party, modern college girls were not so bad after all.

“Here is a place we didn’t see,” said Miss Ashton, stepping into a small room with deep, orange-colored walls. “What a perfectly _wonderful_ rug! Look here, girls!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Nancy, plopping down on the floor beside a magnificent white bearskin that was spread before a mammoth fireplace, and stroking the head delightedly.

“My nephew, who is a member of the Royal Mounted Police, shot the bear in the polar regions, and sent it to me,” said the hostess.

They could hardly get Nancy away from it, and it was with great reluctance that all of them left the attractive house and shaded lawns, where gay tables and striped umbrellas made one long for a cup of tea, even at ten o’clock in the morning.

“I’m going to get hold of the ‘Sam Slick’ books as soon as we get back,” asserted Nancy.

“Won’t it be fun to recognize the parts of the house mentioned in some of the books?” Jeanette agreed that it would, and notation was made of another thing to do “when they got home.”

“Just west of here,” said the driver, “on the edge of the Basin of Minas, lies the great marsh meadow known as Grand Pré. Minas opens into the Bay of Fundy, and is guarded by Cape Blomidon, both of which Longfellow mentions in his famous poem. You will notice the red mud flats on the banks of the river on this side of Nova Scotia,” he continued, as they drove across a quaint covered bridge. “They are all influenced by the famous double tides of the Bay of Fundy. Twice every twenty-four hours the tide, or ‘bore,’ as it is sometimes called, rushes into Fundy. The Avon River, for example, has a rise of thirty-four feet. When the tide is out, the river banks are a mass of red mud, veined by little trickles of water; when the tide comes in, with a mighty rush, all the banks are covered.”

They soon stopped before the little house guarding the Acadian Memorial Park, which is in the center of the old Acadian village immortalized by Longfellow. A descendant of the Acadians has charge of this little building, where a few souvenirs are sold, and where the services of a guide may be obtained. Standing in the doorway which opens into the park itself, one sees a vast stretch of meadow land, dotted with magnificent flower beds; a chapel, a statue, and a row of willows showing up in the distance.

“This,” said Mrs. Bond, who was elected to act as guide, since the young man who performed that office was busy with another party, “is the site of the meadows which the Acadians protected from the inroads of the sea with dikes, so built that at certain seasons enough water could be let in for irrigation purposes.”

Past beds containing flowers blended and contrasted as only the Nova Scotians know how to arrange them, our party finally stopped beside the stone well, known as “Evangeline’s well,” from which the inhabitants of the old village of Grand Pré obtained their water supply.

“Is there any water in it?” inquired Nancy, peering into its mossy depths, and gratified to see water not very far down.

“Be careful, Nan. Your purse!” cried Jeanette; but she spoke just too late. Nancy had laid it on the top of the curb a few minutes before, while Martha took a picture of them gathered about the well. She had neglected to pick it up again, and shoved it off when she leaned over the edge.

They heard a faint splash, and looked at one another in dismay; then Martha burst out laughing.

“I’m—really—terribly—sorry for you, Nan,” she said, “but you seem to be as unlucky with your pocketbook on this trip as I am with falls. We’ll have to beware of the fateful third time!”

“Was there much in it, Nan?” asked Jeanette.

“Oh, no,” said Nancy carelessly. “Just a couple of dollars. You know I’m always losing pocketbooks; so I never carry much in them. Anyway, it’s gone; and we’re not going to let it spoil our day.”

They wandered on to the small chapel of Norman architecture, built on the exact site of the original chapel of St. Charles, of which Longfellow says:

“And lo! with a summons sonorous
Sounded the bell from its tower,
And over the meadows a drum beat,
Thronged erelong was the church with men.”

In time, this little building is to house books, documents, and household articles of the French Acadians.

Halfway down the meadow, opposite the chapel, stands a bronze statue of an idealized Evangeline.

“This is the work of Henri Hebert,” said Mrs. Bond, “one of Canada’s foremost sculptors, and a direct descendant of the Grand Pré French.”

They all felt very serious as they gazed up at the rather sad figure, looking backward upon the land she loved so dearly; and then strolled down toward the row of willows which lined the street of Grand Pré. They then followed a narrow, winding stream to a pond upon which floated ducks among the lily pads.

“Do you suppose they’d let me pet them?” said Nancy, leaning down to touch one which seemed tamer than the rest.

“Be careful—” began Jeanette, just as Nan’s foot slipped on the grass, and she slid, headfirst, into the water, creating great consternation among the inhabitants of the pool, as well as among the spectators.

Nancy was a funny looking creature as she stepped from the pond, and Martha was once more overcome with laughter.

“You got the third fall, Nan,” she cried; “now I’ll have to lose the third pocketbook.”

“Don’t count on that!” retorted Nancy.

“Better watch your step just the same.”

“What in the world shall we do with you, Nan?” asked Jeanette, obviously worried.

“I’ll go back to the bus with her,” offered Miss Ashton, “and get her bag. Probably there is some place in the gatehouse where she can change her things. Fortunately, it is quite warm; so she is not likely to take cold in the meantime.”

They hurried on ahead, and the others followed in leisurely fashion, stopping often to examine the flowers. There were so many unusual kinds that the collection would have been a delight to any student of botany.

When they reached the bus, Nancy, in dry garments, was waiting for them. Jim stood near by, teasing her about her fondness for ducks; a fondness, he said, strong enough to induce her to seek their habitat.

“I know one thing,” said Martha, as they climbed into the bus, “I’m going to reread _Evangeline_ as soon as I get home. It will be so much more interesting after seeing the place.”

*CHAPTER VII*

*EN ROUTE TO DIGBY*

“We still in the country of Evangeline,” said Jim, as they entered Wolfville, three miles beyond Grand Pré. “From here, one may sail across the Basin of Minas over the very course taken by the Acadians on their way into exile. Cape Blomidon’s purple head, thrust far out into the basin, acts as a barrier to fog and storm, thus keeping this region especially suitable for fruit raising. The Micmac Indians believe that Glooscap lives on Blomidon.”

“Glooscap?” inquired Nancy.

“A supernatural hero, something like the Grecian Hercules.”

“Oh! I wish we could see it!” cried Martha. “Who, the hero?” asked Jim.

“Of course not! I’m not so stupid. I mean Cape Blomidon. Then we could gather amethysts for ourselves.”

“Can’t you be satisfied with your souvenir of Captain Kidd?” asked Jim, with a sidewise glance at Nancy.

“Y—es. I suppose so.”

They lunched at Kentville, and bade a very reluctant farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Bond; then drove for miles through the famous orchard lands of the Annapolis and Cornwallis Valleys.

“The most celebrated apple district in the world,” said Jim, indicating with a wave of his hand the endless rows of trees beside the road, “though few people seem to know it. Here are raised many of the finest apples which we eat in the States, especially the Northern Spy.”

Past miles of orchards, and through many little towns they sped, until they reached Annapolis Royal.

“This is the old Port Royal, capital of French Acadia, and founded in 1604—the first permanent European settlement in America after St. Augustine,” said Jim. “Nova Scotia boasts of being first in several ways: The first mill was built here; the first conversion to Christianity took place here; the first Canadian song, written in honor of Champlain; the first play written and staged in North America; and last, but most interesting, the first social club.

“During the winter of 1606-7,” he went on, “Champlain instituted the ‘Order of the Good Time’ to which fifteen leading Frenchmen belonged. For a single day each member was hailed by the rest as Grand Master, and wore a splendid collar while he acted as host to the others. The Grand Master provided dinner and entertainment, and each man tried to surpass his predecessors. The old Indian chief was always an honored guest, and many of his tribe shared in the merrymaking. At the end, all smoked the pipe of peace. When the English captured the town, its name was changed to Annapolis Royal, in honor of Queen Anne.”

The bus rolled up the hill to the Park, which is on the site of the old ramparts of Fort Anne; and stopped before a long, quaint building, with three great chimneys.

“This was the officers’ quarters, built in 1798,” explained Jim; “and over on the other side of the Park you can see the remains of the powder magazine, and some of the fortifications, half buried in the embankment. There are thirty fireplaces in this building, and many rooms filled with curios well worth inspecting.”

A little, white-haired old man of military bearing took them through the building, and explained the exhibits. He marshaled and directed the sight-seers like a crowd of children, and insisted upon absolute quiet while he talked. Not a finger did they dare lay upon any article, and not a move could they make in any direction until he gave the signal.

Martha leaned over and whispered some comment to Nancy, and immediately the guide fixed his piercing eyes upon her severely, and said, “I shall have to ask you to refrain from talking during my lecture. I _cannot_ tell about these things when anyone else is talking.”

Martha shrank back, filled with confusion; and after that episode no one of the whole party ventured even the briefest remark.

In the narrow hall is displayed a collection of cuts of coats of arms, a treasure to anyone interested in the development of heraldry. In one of the rooms there is a collection of coins, covering all types used in Nova Scotia since the first settlement. Another is given over mostly to souvenirs of the World War, seeming a bit out of place amidst the relative antiques of the other rooms. Still another contains various pieces of firearms during the different sieges of the Fort. The guide displayed also, as one of his choicest bits, the immense key to the fort, handed over to the English general by the French commander in the last siege, and until recently in the hands of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

But the girls found most interesting of all, the Acadian room, taken intact from an Acadian house, and rebuilt into its present setting. It is simplicity itself, and takes one back in spirit to those delightfully simple people whom Longfellow has made so well known. The floor is bare, and the woodwork painted Acadian blue; and on the walls are a few holy pictures, and a couple of rifles. At one side of the fireplace with its andirons and swinging crane, stands a wooden cradle with a hood at one end; and on the other side is the spinning wheel. The chairs have seats made of strips of deerskin, woven in and out. “Just like the mats we made out of paper in the kindergarten,” said Nancy. One of the oddest articles in the room is a table which one can transform into a chair or a cupboard by the proper manipulation of the leaves. On the door is the old wooden latch, and the guide explained that if this were an outside door, the latchstring would be drawn in at night, after which no one could open the door from the outside.

“So that,” exclaimed Nancy in delightful enthusiasm, forgetting the rule of silence, “is where we get our expression ‘our latchstring is always out for you.’ I’ve wondered about that ever since I first heard it.”

“Don’t you feel just as if you had been let out from school?” asked Martha, as they left the building and walked across the Park to take a look at the powder magazine.

“Yes; wasn’t he strict?” answered Jeanette. “But he certainly knows his exhibits. And how he loves them, and everything connected with Nova Scotia!”

It was difficult to tear themselves away from the interesting old place, but Jim said they would have to be going in order to get to Digby in proper time.

“This town,” he said, as they entered Bear River, some miles beyond Annapolis Royal, “is celebrated for its Cherry Carnival. In the middle of July, hundreds of tourists and natives come here to feast upon cherries and witness a series of thrilling aquatic events. The Indians from a near-by reservation take part in the birch bark canoe and log rolling contests, and usually carry off many of the prizes.”

“Um!” said Martha. “I’d like to be here then. I just love cherries.”

The car now followed the curving shores of the Annapolis Basin toward Digby. This is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The purplish North Mountain range rises abruptly from the opposite bank of the Annapolis River, and one passes through miles of a picture book world—farms, quaint tiny villages, deep woods, rivers, hills, lovely summer homes guarded by tall fir trees, log cabin colonies, until the long bridge which leads into Digby is reached.

“Out there,” said Jim, pointing across Digby Basin, “is what they call Digby Gut. It was properly named Digby Gap; but, according to the story, the fishermen, after they had completed their catch, always stopped out there to clean the fish, throwing the refuse into the water; and from that comes the inelegant name which the gap now bears. The gap is formed by a mile wide break in the North Mountain range, and through that mountain gate, which the Indians call ‘Tee-wee-den,’ or ‘little hole,’ rush the great floods of the Bay of Fundy, twice every twenty-four hours. They fill the basin, the rivers, and all their tributaries to the very top of the diked embankments for a distance of over forty miles.”

“How wonderful!” exclaimed Jeanette, while Miss Ashton quoted from Longfellow:

“Oh, faithful, indefatigable tides
That ever more, upon God’s errands go,
Now seaward, hearing tidings of the land,
Now landward, bearing tidings of the sea,
And filling every firth and estuary,
Each arm of the great sea, each little creek,
Each thread and filament of water course,
Full with your ministrations of delight!”

“How perfectly that description suits this part of the country,” said Nancy appreciatively.

They drove up the wooded hill to the big hotel, surrounded by cottages of various sizes. One of these was assigned to Miss Ashton and her party; and they took possession at once, for dinner time was fast approaching.

“What a darling place!” cried Nancy, inspecting the two bedrooms, bath, and living room.

“I like this room best,” said Jeanette, standing in the living room with its big fireplace, cretonne hangings, and wonderful view of the basin into which extended the long government pier from which you may sail to St. John, New Brunswick.

“You had better postpone your raptures,” suggested Miss Ashton practically, “if we are all to bathe and dress for dinner. I understand that this is a very fashionable place, and we want to look our best.”

“I want to ask you something,” said Nancy, detaining Miss Ashton as she prepared to follow the girls who were on their way to the bedrooms.

“Yes?”

“Jim asked me to go to the dance at the hotel for a while to-night.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I said I’d ask you and let him know later.”

“Well, why don’t you go? He is a very nice boy; and, by the way, I forgot to tell you that I had quite a long talk with him the other day and we have some mutual acquaintances.”

“But what about the other girls? Jeanette won’t mind, I’m sure; but I don’t feel so positive about Martha.”

“She is certainly sensible enough to know that the boy couldn’t be expected to take three girls to a dance. I’ll think up some way to fix things.”

Miss Ashton was much pleased with Nancy’s deference to her opinions. She had chaperoned other girls who had shown far less consideration.

“Thanks a lot,” cried Nancy, running happily off to dress for dinner.

At the table in the big dining room, filled with beautifully dressed people, Miss Ashton decided, after looking about, that her girls looked just as pretty as any of the other young people. Nancy was a picture in the old rose chiffon, with her dark brown fashionably bobbed hair, deep dimples, and dancing brown eyes. Jeanette, demure and dainty, was in the blue and silver which blended so well with her blond hair and blue eyes. The gypsy-like Martha was gay in unrelieved scarlet.

“Nancy has been invited to dance this evening,” began Miss Ashton, while they were waiting for the soup.

“Oh, how nice!” said Jeanette. “Jim?”

Nancy nodded.

“I thought it might be fun, if you all agree,” continued Miss Ashton, “to take a taxi uptown and look about a bit. Then perhaps when we get back, Nancy and Jim will be ready to join us at the cottage.”

“A good idea,” agreed Jeanette.

“And we might have a game of bridge,” proposed Martha, who had succeeded in stifling her bit of envy; for she _did_ love to dance.

“Fine!” said Nancy heartily. “We’ll go over to the cottage as soon as you get back.”

Shortly after they left the dining room, Jim came in search of Nancy; and the others departed in a taxi, with long heavy coats over their evening clothes.

They prowled about the little town of Digby, buying post cards, stamps, etc., and seemed to have about exhausted the possibility of purchases, when Martha exclaimed:

“Let’s buy some funny prizes for our bridge party!”

“Oh, let’s,” agreed Jeanette, entering a little store in the window of which various souvenirs were displayed, Miss Ashton and Martha following.

It was difficult to make a selection; for they wanted a prize for each which would be particularly suited to its recipient; and by turns each had to withdraw while her prize was being bought. At last, however, they were ready to return to the hotel, when Martha cried:

“We haven’t any lunch for the party! And what’s a party without a lunch!”

Jeanette laughed; but Miss Ashton replied:

“I’ll surprise you. I planned that part of it long ago.”

When they got back to the cottage they found Nancy and Jim sitting on the tiny front porch looking at the moon above the tall pines shining down upon the little village and the pier with the lighthouse at the end.

“There was such a crowd that we didn’t care to stay any longer,” explained Nancy, as they all went into the living room.

The fireman had been in, and now a cheerful wood fire was dancing in the fireplace. They drew the table close to the hearth, for there was a chill in the air as soon as the sun went down, and settled themselves for card playing.

At about eleven o’clock, Miss Ashton, who had been watching the game, suggested counting up the scores.

“We bought some prizes,” she announced, “and they will now be awarded.”

She had taken the opportunity, while the young people were occupied, to wrap and label the articles which she now laid before each one.

“You had the highest score, Jim,” said Nancy, “so you open yours first.”

He slowly untied a box, and from it drew forth a toy automobile, while the girls exclaimed at its appropriateness.

“It winds up and runs, I think,” said Nancy, examining it closely.

“Take it right away from her,” said Martha. “If she gets fussing with a mechanical toy, it’s good night to everything else.”

Jim put his big hand over it, and Nancy surrendered the toy without protest.

“Now yours, Nan,” said Jim.

A toy duck emerged from her package, and Jim shouted with laughter.

“Oh!” she cried, delightedly, “it quacks!” as she accidentally pressed a spring in its neck.

Martha’s prize was a purse labeled, “For Captain Kidd’s coin.”

“Lovely!” she exclaimed. “I’ll put it right in.”