A Little Girl in Old St. Louis, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  OLD ST. LOUIS

  Soon after daylight the strong west wind drove away the rain and clouds.The air was soft and balmy, full of the indescribable odors of spring.Birds began their pipings; robin and thrush and meadow-larks andwood-pigeons went circling about on glistening wings.

  Antoine found himself some dry clothes and kindled his fire. He wouldbake a few corn cakes; they had demolished the loaf of bread last night.There was a flitch of dried bacon and some eggs.

  The door opened, and Gaspard wished his host good-morning. Renee wasstill asleep.

  There was a little rivulet that emptied in the mill pond, and near thehouse Freneau had hollowed out quite a basin. Gaspard went down here forhis morning ablutions. A tall, well-developed man, just turned of thirtywith a strong, decisive face, clear blue eyes that could flash likesteel in a moment of indignation, yet in the main were rather humorous;chestnut hair, closely cropped, and a beard trimmed in the same fashion.He soused his head now in the miniature basin and shook it like a waterdog. Then he drew in long breaths of the divine morning air, and glancedabout with a sort of worship in his heart, took a few steps this way andthat. Antoine watched him with bated breath, he was so near the secret.

  But Denys had heard nothing in the night. He was tired and had sleptsoundly. Suddenly he bethought himself of the little girl and went intothe house. Antoine was preparing breakfast. Renee was sitting up,glancing round. She had been in so many strange places this did notdisturb her.

  She rose upright now, and stretched out her hands with a half-timid,half-joyous smile.

  "Uncle Gaspard," she said, "where are we?"

  Old Antoine raised his head. The French was so pure, the voice had anold reminder of the one back of her mother.

  "We are at St. Louis, child."

  "And where is the King?"

  "Oh, my little girl, back in France. There is no king here. And we arenot French any longer, but Spanish."

  "I am French." She said it proudly.

  "We keep our hearts and our language French. Some day there may beanother overturn. I do not see as it matters much. The Spanish arepretty good to us."

  "Good! And with these cursed river laws!" grumbled Antoine.

  "If report says true, it can't interfere very much with you."

  "Report is a liar," the man flung out savagely.

  Gaspard Denys laughed.

  After a moment he said, "Isn't there a towel or a cloth of some kind? Idried myself in the air."

  "I told you I had not any accommodations for womenkind. You should haveleft her at the convent. Farther back, it is De Longueville's businessto care for her."

  "But you see he did not. You and he are her only blood kin, and you bothcast her off. It is well she has found a friend."

  "The convent and the Sisters would have been better."

  "Come, man, some sort of a towel," exclaimed Denys imperatively.

  Antoine rummaged in the old chest, and presently brought forth one.Denys noted that it was soft and fine and not of home manufacture. Thenhe led Renee out to the little basin and, dipping the towel in, washedher face and hands.

  "Oh, how good it feels!" she cried delightedly.

  Gaspard had grown quite used to playing lady's maid. He took a comb outof its case of Indian work that he carried about in his pocket, andcombed out the tumbled hair. She winced now and then at a bad tangle,and laughed on the top of it. Then he bent over and kissed her on theforehead. She caught his head in her small arms and pressed her softcheek against his caressingly.

  "I love you, Uncle Gaspard," she exclaimed. "But I don't love that oldman in there. Are you sure he is my grandfather? I couldn't live here. Ishould run away and live with the birds and the squirrels."

  "And the Indians."

  "But that Light of the Moon was sweet and pretty."

  "Yes. I should like to have brought her with us for your maid."

  "Oh, that would have been nice!" She clapped her hands. "What is overthere?" nodding her head.

  "That is St. Louis--the fort, the palisades, the stockade to keep out theIndians."

  "There are no Indians in France," she said retrospectively.

  "No. And I have wondered a little, Renee, if you would not rather beback there."

  "And not have you?" She clung to his arm.

  He gave a little sigh.

  "Oh, are you not glad to have me? Does no one want me?"

  The pathos of the young voice pierced his heart.

  "Yes, I want you. I had no one to care for, no brothers or sisters or----"

  "Men have wives and children." There was a touch of almost regret in hertone, as if she were sorry for him.

  "And you are my child. We will go in town to-day and find some one tolook after you. And there will be children to play with."

  "Oh, I shall be so glad. Little girls?"

  "Yes. I know ever so many."

  "I saw my little brothers in Paris as we came through. They were verypretty--at least their clothes were. And papa's wife--well, I think theQueen couldn't have had any finer gown. They were just going to thepalace, and papa kissed me farewell. It was very dreary at the oldchateau. And when the wind blew through the great trees it seemed likepeople crying. Old Pierre used to count his beads."

  What a strange, dreary life the little girl had had! It should all bebetter now. The child of the woman he had loved!

  "If grandfather is rich, as Marie said, why does he live that way?"

  She made a motion toward the house.

  "No one knows whether he is rich or not. He trades a little with theIndians and the boats going up and down the river."

  The shrill summons to breakfast reached them.

  They went in, the child holding tightly to Gaspard's hand. It seemed asif her grandfather looked more forbidding now than he had last night. Hewas both sulky and surly, but the viands were appetizing, and thismorning Renee felt hungry. Gaspard was glad to see her eat. The old manstill eyed her furtively.

  "Well?" he interrogated, as they rose from the table, looking meaninglyat Gaspard.

  "We are going in the town, the child and I," Gaspard replied briefly.

  Antoine nodded.

  Oh, what a morning it was! The air seemed fairly drenched with the newgrowth of everything; the tints were indescribable. Some shrubs andflowers had begun to bloom. Renee had seen so much that was cold andbleak, trees leafless and apparently lifeless amid the almost blackgreen of hemlocks and firs. Streams and pools frozen over, and acoldness that seemed to penetrate one's very soul. At Detroit it hadsoftened a little and all along the journey since then were heralds ofwarmth and beauty. The child, too, expanded in it, and the changes inher face interested Gaspard intently. He was a great lover of naturehimself.

  Early St. Louis was all astir. From the bustle, the sound of voices, thegesticulation, and running to and fro, it appeared as if there might bethousands of people instead of six or seven hundred. Everything lookedmerry, everybody was busy. There was a line of boats coming, othersalready at the primitive landings, Indians and trappers in picturesqueattire, gay feathers and red sashes; fringes down the sides of theirlong leggings and the top of their moccasins. Traders were there, too,sturdy brown-faced Frenchmen, many of whom had taken a tour or two up inthe North Country themselves, and had the weather-beaten look that comesof much living out of doors. Children ran about, black-eyed,rosy-cheeked, shrill of voice. Small Indians, with their grave faces andstraight black hair, and here and there a squaw with her papoosestrapped to her back.

  Gaspard Denys paused a moment to study them. He really had an artist'ssoul; these pictures always appealed to him.

  They came in the old Rue Royale, skirting the river a short distance,then turned up to the Rue d'Eglise. Here was a low stone house, rathersquat, the roof not having a high peak. A wide garden space, with fruittrees and young vegetables, some just peeping up from brown beds and agreat space in front where grass might have grown if little feet had nottrodden it so
persistently. A broad porch had a straw-thatched roof, andhere already a young girl sat spinning, while several children wereplaying about.

  "Lisa! Lisa!" called the girl, rising. "Ah, Monsieur Denys, we are veryglad to see you. You have been absent a long while. You missed themerry-making and--and we missed you," blushing.

  A pretty girl, with dark eyes and hair done up in a great coil ofbraids; soft peachy skin with a dainty bloom on the cheek and a dimplein the broad chin. Her lips had the redness of a ripe red cherry that isso clear you almost think it filled with wine.

  "And I am glad to see you, Barbe," taking her outstretched hand. "OughtI to say 'ma'm'selle' now?" glancing her all over, from the braids doneup to certain indications in the attire of womanhood.

  She blushed and laughed. "Oh, I hope I have not grown as much as that. Ishould like always to be Barbe to you."

  "But some day you may be married. Then you will be madame to everybody."

  "Lise thinks I have too good a home to give up lightly. I am veryhappy."

  Madame Renaud came out of the house. She was taller and larger than hersister, but with the same dark eyes and hair. Her sleeves were rolled upabove her elbows and showed a plump, pretty arm; her wide, homespunapron nearly covered her.

  "Oh, Gaspard--M'sieu Denys! You are such a stranger and we have missedyou much, much," with an emphasis. "We were not sure but some Quebecbelle would capture you and keep you there. You will have warm welcomes.Whose is the child?"

  The other children had stopped their play and were edging nearer Renee,who in turn shrank against Denys.

  "I have come to talk about the child. May I not come in? Are you busy?"

  "With bread and cakes. We are not so poorly off if we have a bad name,"smiling with amusement. "Here is a chair, and a stool for the littleone. She looks pale. Is she not well?"

  "She has had a long journey. First across the ocean, then from Quebec innot the pleasantest of weather for such a tramp. But she has not beenill a day."

  Denys placed his arm over the child's shoulder, and she leaned her armson his knee.

  Madame Renaud raised her eyebrows a trifle.

  "You remember the daughter of Antoine Freneau?"

  "Yes--a little. He took her to Canada and married her to some greatperson and she died in France. Poor thing! I wonder if she was happy?"

  She, too, knew of the gossip that Denys had been very much in love withthis girl, and she stole a little furtive glance; but the man's face wasnot so ready with confessions. Much hard experience had settled thelines.

  "Then the Count married again. He is in the King's service at thepalace. They sent the child over to her grandfather. I went to Canadafor her."

  "And this is Renee Freneau's child. Poor thing!"

  She glanced intently at the little girl, who flushed and cast down hereyes. Why was she always a poor thing?

  "And that is no home for her."

  "I should think not! Home, indeed, in that old cabin, where men meet tocarouse, and strange stories are told," said madame decisively.

  "I am to be her guardian and look after her. I think I shall settledown. I have tramped about enough to satisfy myself for one while. Ishall go into trading, and have some one keep a house for me and takecare of the child. Meanwhile I must persuade some one to give hershelter and oversight."

  "Yes, yes, m'sieu," encouragingly.

  "And so I have come to you," looking up, with a bright laugh.

  Gaspard Denys very often obtained just what he wanted without muchargument. Perhaps it was not so much his way as his good judgment ofothers.

  "And so I have come to you," he repeated. "If you will take her in alittle while, I think she will enjoy being with children. She has had alonely life thus far."

  "Poor thing! Poor little girl, to lose her mother so soon! And you thinkold Antoine will make no trouble?"

  "Oh, no, no! He would not know what to do with her."

  Madame Renaud laughed derisively, and gave a nod, throwing her headback, which displayed her pretty throat.

  "So I shall look after her. He will never interfere. It will not be forlong. And how shall I appear putting on fatherly airs?" in a tone ofamusement.

  "Louis is but two and thirty, and you----"

  "Have just turned thirty," subjoined Gaspard.

  "And little Louis is twelve, stout and sturdy and learning to figure aswell as read under the good pere. Then there are three others, and papais as proud of them as was ever any hen with her chicks. I never heardthat Chanticleer was a pattern of fatherly devotion."

  They both laughed at that.

  "And, Gaspard, you should have settled upon some nice girl at the balls.You have been chosen king times enough."

  He flushed a trifle. "I have been quite a roamer in strange places, andat first had a fancy for a life of adventure. But, as I said, I think ofsettling down now. And if you will keep the little girl for me until Iget a home----"

  "And you want a good housemaid. Gaspard, Mere Lunde has lost her son.True, he was a great burden and care, and she has spent most of herlittle fortune upon him. I think she would be glad----"

  "The very person. Thank you a thousand times, Madame Renaud. I shouldwant some one settled in her ways, content to stay at home, and with atender heart. Yes, Mere Lunde will be the very one.

  "She was going to the pere's; then his niece came from Michilimackinac.They had bad work at the Mission with the Indians, and she just escapedwith her life and her little boy."

  "Yes; I will see her. It is advised that you get the cage before youfind the bird; but the bird may be captured elsewhere if you wait toolong. The child's box comes in from St. Charles; they would not stir astep farther last night. I must go and look after it. Then I can send ithere? And Louis will not kick it out of doors when he comes?" smilinghumorously.

  "He will be liker to keep the little one for good and all and let youwhistle," she retorted merrily.

  "Thank you a hundred times until you are better paid. And now I must begoing. I expect the town will almost look strange."

  "And plain after gay Quebec; and Detroit, they say, has some grandpeople in it. But, bah, they are English!" with a curl of the lip.

  He rose now. Madame Renaud had not been idle, but had rolled out doughfairly brown with spices and cut it in little cakes of various shapes,filling up some baking sheets of tin.

  "You will leave the child? Renee--what is her name? It has slipped mymind."

  "Renee de Longueville."

  The child clung to his hand. "I want to go with you," she said in a toneof entreaty.

  "Yes, and see St. Louis? He is her king or was until she touched thisSpanish soil."

  "The Spaniards have been very good to us. But we all hope to go backagain some day. Renee, will you not stay and play with the children?There is Sophie, about your age or a little older, and Elise----"

  "No," she returned with a long breath; "I want Uncle Gaspard."

  "Adopted already? Well, you will bring her in to dinner?" with a cordialintonation.

  "If not, to supper."

  "You will tire her to death dragging her around."

  "Oh, heaven forefend," in mock fear.

  He paused a moment or two and glanced at Renee, half questioningly, butshe still clung to him.

  They took their way along the street, but from every corner they had aglimpse of the river, now flowing lazily along. The French seemed tohave a fancy for building their towns on the margin of a river. Partly,perhaps, from fear of the Indians, but quite as much from innatesociability, as they preferred compactness, and did not branch out intofarms until later on. But many of these squares had not more than threeor four houses; some, indeed, only one, the rest devoted to a garden.

  Here was the market, but there were not many customers this morning,though the stands were attractively arranged. And beyond was the oldLaclede mansion. He it was who had laid out the town and named itsstreets. On the main street was his large store, but it was then the endof Rue Royale. He h
ad welcomed the emigration from Fort Chartres whenthe English had taken possession, and set a band of workmen building loghouses for them. His own house was quite roomy and imposing.

  Then they went down to the levee, which presented a busy and picturesquesight. Boats were being unloaded of bales of furs and articles ofmerchandise. Indians with blankets around them or with really gaytrappings; _coureur de bois_; Frenchmen, both jolly and stern,chaffering, buying, sending piles of skins away on barrows, paying forthem in various kinds of wares, arms, ammunition, beads and trinkets,though these were mostly taken by the squaws.

  Denys found his parcels and the box belonging to the child, andresponded to the cordial greetings.

  "Here, Noyan," he called to a man who had just trundled his barrow downand who paused to make an awkward salutation. He had a blue cottonkerchief tied round his head, buckskin trousers, and a sort of blousecoat made of coarse woollen stuff, belted in loosely; but it held apouch containing tobacco and his knife, and a small hatchet wassuspended from it.

  "M'sieu Denys! One has not seen you for an age! Were you up to thenorth? It is a good sight. And have you been making a fortune?"

  The wide, smiling mouth showed white, even teeth.

  "Not up in the fur regions. I took Canada this time."

  "Then thou hast lots of treasures that will set the dames and the maidscrazy with longing. They are gay people in those old towns, and thestate they keep is something like a court, I hear. Have you brought homeMadame Denys? Is it not high time?"

  "Past time," returning the laugh. "But our good Pierre Laclede iscontent to remain a bachelor, and why not I?"

  "I am afraid thou art hard to suit. Surely we have pretty maids here;and at New Orleans it is said they make a man lose his head if they dobut smile on him. A dangerous place that!" and he laughed merrily.

  "Are you busy?"

  "Yes and no. I am to look after M. Maxent's boat load, but it will notbe in until noon. So, if I can catch a job I am ready."

  "Then you are the man for me. Come. They have piled up the freight hereon the wharf. I am a lucky fellow to meet you. I feel quite strangeafter my long absence. I suppose the old storehouse has not burned down?It could not well be robbed," and Monsieur Denys laughed with gayindifference.

  "When a man has only the coat on his back he need not be afraid ofthieves."

  "Unless he fall among Indians."

  "Ah, bah! yes," with a comical shrug. "And sometimes they take hisskin."

  There were bales strapped up, with thongs of hide over the coarsecovering; some sacks made of hide; several boxes bound about with bandsof iron. Noyan looked them over and considered.

  "I must go twice, M'sieu Denys," looking askance as if his employermight object.

  "Very well. This box is to go to Madame Renaud's."

  The man nodded, and began to pile on the goods, fastening them with somestout straps.

  "Do you go, too?"

  "Oh, yes. Here, Jaques, sit on this box and guard these two bundles, andearn a little more than your salt."

  A shock-headed boy, with a broad, stupid face, had been looking onindifferently, and now he dropped on the box like a weight of lead, witha grunt that meant assent and a grin that betokened satisfaction.

  "We must retrace our steps," said Denys to the little girl. "But it isnot far."

  They passed the market again. They turned into the Rue de Rive, justbeyond the Rue Royale. A building of rough stone, with a heavy doorwaythat looked as if it had been deserted a long while, which was trueenough. A broad bar had fastened it securely, and the great lock mighthave guarded the treasures of Niebelungs.

  Denys unlocked it with some difficulty, threw open the door andunfastened the shutter.

  "Whew! What a musty old hole! It must be cleaned up. I will attend tothat to-morrow. Dump the things in here, and then go for the others."

  On the western end was an addition of hewn logs, with big posts set inthe corners. Denys marched around and surveyed it. There was a space ofneglected ground, with two or three fine trees and a huddle ofgrape-vines fallen to the ground. It did not look altogether inviting.But just beyond was the Rue de la Tour that led straight out to the oldfort, and only a step farther was the church and the priest's house.Then, it would not be very far from the Renauds.

  Renee was watching him as he peered about.

  "It looks a dull place for a little girl!" he exclaimed.

  "Are you going to live here?" with some curiosity.

  "Oh, yes. But it will be fixed up. And--a flower garden," hesitatingly.

  "I don't mind if you are here," and she slipped her hand in his with agesture of possession.

  "And we will have a nice old woman to get our meals and make our bedsand keep the house tidy. Oh, it will be all right when it is cleared up.And you will soon know some little girls. And we can take walks around."

  She started suddenly. A bird up in the tree poured forth a torrent ofmelody. Her eyes grew luminous, her lips quivered, her pale cheeksflushed.

  "Oh, birds!" she cried. "I used to talk to them at the chateau and feedthem with crumbs. They would come to my hand."

  "You shall tame them here. Oh, we will have nice times together," andnow he pressed her hand.

  The sweetness of her little face went to his heart. Yes, she was likeher mother.

  Noyan came with the next load, threw off the few parcels, and took hisway to Madame Renaud's. Denys locked his door again and they turnedaway.

  "Now we will go and find Mere Lunde. It is up somewhere by the fort.That will be quite a landmark for you. And the great Indian chief,Pontiac, that I told you about at Detroit, lies buried there."

  "I do not think I like Indians," she returned gravely. "Only the babiesare so odd, and the little children. It is a pity they should grow up socruel."

  "We have kept very good friends with them thus far."

  They had begun to build the new palisades. Yes, here was the fort, andthe Guion house, and the grave that she did not care to linger over.Then they turned into the street of the Barns, _La rue des Granges_, andsoon found Mere Lunde, who was cooking a savory pottage, and welcomedGaspard Denys warmly.

  A little old Frenchwoman such as artists love to paint. She was round inthe shoulders, made so by much stooping over her son and her work in thetiny garden, where she raised much of her living. She was wrinkled, buther eyes were bright, and her cheeks still had a color in them. She worethe coif, her best one being white, but this a sort of faded plaid. Herskirt just came to her ankles, and to-day she had on sabots, that made alittle clatter as she stepped round. Over her shoulders was pinned asmall gray kerchief. She looked so cheerful and tidy, so honest andkindly, that she went to one's heart at once.

  M'sieu must hear about her son, poor lad--all she had to live for. Yet,perhaps, it was well the Good Father took him before she went. And nowshe worked a little for the neighbors. Everybody was kind to her. Andwould they not partake of her simple meal? It was not much, to be sure,but it would make her very happy.

  Denys admitted that he was hungry, and Renee's eyes had an assentinglight in them. Over the meal he made his proposal, which Mere Lundeaccepted with tears in her eyes.

  "God is good," she said, crossing herself devoutly. "Father Meurin saidI must have faith, and something would come. Oh, how can I thank you!Yes, I will gladly keep your house, and care for the child, and striveto please you every way. Oh, it is, indeed, the best of fortune tohappen to me, when life had begun to look lone and drear."

  "To-morrow, then, we will begin to clear up."

  "Yes; to-morrow," she replied cheerfully.