A Little Girl in Old Quebec, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  THE JOY OF FRIENDSHIP

  She went down to the very boundaries of the other country, this littleRose. One night and one day they gave her up. She lay white and silentand Mere Dubray brought out a white muslin dress and ironed it up, muchtroubled to know whether she had a right to Christian burial or not.

  And then she opened her eyes with their olden light and began to ask ina weak voice what happened to her yesterday, and found her lastremembrance was six weeks agone.

  She could hardly raise her thin little hand, but all the air was sweetwith growing things. The tall trees had come into rich leafage, thesunshine glowed upon the grass that danced as if each blade wasfairy-born, and sparkled on the river that went hurrying by as if totell a wonderful story. The great craggy upper town glinted in athousand varying tints, and at evening was wreathed in trailing miststhat seemed some strange army marching across. The thickly wooded hillswere nodding and smiling to each other, some native fruit trees were inbloom, and the air was delicious with the scent of wild-grapefragrance.

  "It was a bad fever. And we had no priest to call upon. As if peoplehere did not need one as well as in that wild place with a long namewhere they are hunting copper and maybe gold. But thanks to the saintsand the good doctor, you have come through. Ah, we ought to have achapel at least where one could go and pray."

  "It is so beautiful and sweet. One would not want to be put in theground."

  She shuddered thinking of it.

  "No, no! And M. Pontgrave has come in with two ships. There is plenty ofprovisions and fruits from La Belle France. See, M'sieu Ralph broughtthem in for you. Now you have only to get well."

  Mere Dubray's face was alight with joy. The child smiled faintly.

  "And the Sieur de Champlain?" she asked.

  "Oh, he is as busy as any two men with plans for building up the town,and workmen, and some women for wives--two of whom are married already,though one couple did their courting on shipboard. Oh, you must soon getabout. We are going to have a rare summer."

  The child raised herself up a trifle and then sank back.

  "Oh, dear!" with a little cry.

  "Do not mind, _ma petite_. People are always so at first. To-morrowmaybe you can sit up, and a few days after walk. And then go out."

  "The world is so lovely and sweet," she murmured. And she was glad shehad not died.

  The next day M'sieu Ralph came in. He appeared changed some way, but theold smile was there. The eyes seemed to have taken on a deeper bluetint. She stretched out her hands.

  "Thank the good God that you are restored, little one," he exclaimed,with deep fervor. "Only you are a shadow of the Rose who climbed rockslike a joyous kid less than a year agone. When will you pilot me again?"

  She drew a long breath like a sigh.

  "And there have been so many happenings. There are new people, though nolittle girls among them, for which I am sorry. And already they arebuilding houses. The Sieur de Champlain has great plans. He will have afine city if they work. Why, when thou art an old lady and goest dressedin silks and velvets and furs, as the women of the mother country, thouwilt have rare stories to tell to thy grandchildren. And no doubt thouwilt have seen Paris as well."

  Then she smiled, but it was a pitiful attempt.

  It was true Quebec had received a wonderful hastening in the new-comersand in several grants the King had made concerning the fur trade. Thedreary winter was a thing of the past.

  Destournier came in the next day and insisted the child should bewrapped up and carried out in the sunshine. She seemed light as a babywhen he took her in his arms. He seated himself on a bench and held herclosely wound up in Mere's choicest blanket she had brought from St.Malo, and which had been woven by her grandmother.

  Ah, how lovely that savage primeval beauty looked to the child, who feltmore than she could understand. Every pulse seemed instinct with newlife. The gardens with their beds of vegetables, the tall slim spikes ofonions which everybody had been requested to plant plentifully, thefeathery leaves of the young carrots, the beans already in white bloom,the sword-like leaves of the corn hardly long enough to wave as yet, andthe river with boats and canoes--why, it had never been so brisk andwonderful before.

  She drew in long breaths of health-giving fragrance. There had been sometrouble with the Indians and the Sieur de Champlain had gone to chastisethem. There were fur-traders on the way and soon everything would bestirring with eager business. And when she could they would take a sailaround and up the St. Charles, and visit the islands, for besides Panithe Mere had another Indian boy the Sieur had sent her, so there wouldbe no gardening for the small, white Rose. And he had made a new friendfor her, who was waiting anxiously to see her.

  Presently she went soundly asleep in the fragrant air, and he carriedher back and laid her on the bed. Mere Dubray came and looked at her andshook her head. She was indeed a white Rose now. They had cut her hairwhen she had tangled it with her tossing about, and it was now a bed ofgolden rings, but the long lashes that were like a fringe on her cheekswere black.

  "It will take her a good while to get back all she has lost," said theyoung man. "It is little short of a miracle that she is here."

  She gained a little every day. But she felt very shaky when she walkedabout, and light in the head. And then Destournier brought her a visitorone afternoon, a lady the like of whom the child had not dreamed of inher wildest imaginings, as she had listened to tales of royalty. A tall,fair woman whose bright hair was a mass of puffs and short dainty curlsheld by combs that sparkled with jewels, and the silken gown that wasstrewn with brocaded roses on a soft gray ground. It had dainty rufflesaround the bottom that barely reached her ankles, and showed the clockedand embroidered stockings and elegant slippers laced back and forth withgolden cord, and a buckle that sparkled with gems like the combs. Evenroyalty condescended to wear imitation jewels, so why should not thelower round? Her shapely shoulders were half veiled by a gauze scarf onwhich were woven exquisite flowers.

  The child gazed with fascinated admiration. Did the Greek womenDestournier had read about, who won every heart, look like this?

  "This is the lady I told you of, little one, who has lately come fromFrance, Madame Giffard. And this is Rose----" He paused suddenly with ahalf smile. "I believe the child has no other name."

  "Was she born here?" How soft and winning the voice was.

  Destournier flushed unconsciously.

  "She has a story and a mystery that no one has fathomed. The Sieur madesome inquiries. A woman of the better class who came over with someemigrants brought her, and was supposed to be her mother. But somesecret lay heavy on her mind, it seemed, and when she was dying sheconfessed that the child was not hers, but she had no time forexplanations. The husband brought her here and has gone to one of thefur stations. His disappointment was so intense he gave up the child.And so--her name is neither Arlac nor Dubray. We shall have torechristen her."

  "What a curious romance! If one knew what town she came from. Oh, mylittle one, will you let me be your friend? I had a little golden-hairedgirl who died when she was but four, and no children have come since togladden my heart."

  Madame Giffard bent over and took the small hand, noting the taperfingers and slender wrist that seemed to indicate good birth. Shepressed it to her lips. Rose looked up trustfully and smiled.

  "I like you," she said, with frank earnestness.

  "Then I shall come to see you often. This is such a queer place with noready-made houses and really nothing but log huts or those made of roughslabs. I wonder now how I had the courage to come. But I could not beseparated from my dear husband. And when he makes his fortune we shallgo back to our dearly beloved France."

  The child smiled. The story had no embarrassment for her--Catherine hadbrought her from France and she had never called her mother until onshipboard. Back of it was vague and misty, though Catherine was in itall. But this beautiful woman with her soft voice, different fromanything she
had ever heard--why, she liked her already almost as muchas M'sieu Ralph.

  "And you have been ill a long while?"

  "It seemed only a day when I first woke up. Then the snow was on theground. I was so cold. I wanted to go to sleep on the chimney seat andMere would not let me. And now everything is in bloom and the garden isplanted and the sun shines in very gladness. I shall never like winteragain," and she shuddered.

  "Are the winters so dreadful?" she inquired of Destournier.

  "I never knew anything like it. I can't understand why the Sieur deChamplain should want to found a city here when the country south is somuch more congenial. Although this is the key to the North, as he says.And there is a north to the continent over there."

  "You think there are fortunes to be made?"

  "For those who come to make them. But the mother country will squeezehard. We have not found the gold and silver yet. But after all, trade isyour best pioneer. And this is an era of exploring, of fame, rather thanmoney-getting. We are just coming to know there are other sides to theworld. Ah, here is Mere Dubray."

  The child glanced from one woman to the other. She saw the samedifference as there was between the workmen and the few of the betterclass. Was it knowledge such as M'sieu Ralph had? And the good-heartedhome-making Mere scouted learning for women. Their business was cookingand keeping the house. But she decided she liked the lady the best, justas she liked M'sieu Ralph better than the brawny leathern- and fur-cladworkmen. But the Mere had been very good and never scolded her now.

  She brought in some little cakes and a glass of beer brewed from rootsand herbs. Madame Giffard thanked her and sipped it delicately. Somevague memory haunted the child, as if she had seen this lady before withthe dead Catherine.

  "It is a wild, wild country. There is nothing like it in France," thelady said, in a tone of disparagement. "And how one is to live----"

  "You were not in France two or three centuries ago," he returnedgood-naturedly. "Most countries go through this period. Beginnings arenot always agreeable."

  "But I cannot admit this is a city. Yet they talk about it at home. Thefurs are certainly fine. But the Indians! You are in fear of them allthe time. And if they should make an attack here?"

  "They will hardly dare now. Indeed one Indian tribe is practically wipedout. And the fortifications are to be strengthened. We manage to keepquite friendly, though we do not trust too far."

  "But it is horrible to live in perpetual fear," and she shuddered.

  "You must not look on that side of it. It is a hard country for women, Ishall have to admit."

  "But I have not come to stay, thank the saints. A year maybe at thelongest. My husband is to go back when he has--what you callit--established his claim--concession. We like sunny France the best.Only one wants a fortune to enjoy it."

  "That is true, too. But here one can do without. At least a mancan"--laughing a little as he surveyed the dainty figure.

  "A year," repeated the child. "How long is a year?"

  Mere Dubray had been standing in the doorway, waiting to take the cupwhen my lady had finished. Now she said in an unemotional tone--

  "It is a summer and a winter. It was last May when Jean Arlac broughtyou here."

  The child nodded thoughtfully and there came a far-away expression inher eyes.

  "Jean Arlac went up to the fur country," she said to the guest.

  "Does he return when the furs come in?"

  She glanced at Mere Dubray, who shook her head.

  "He comes back no more. He has married an Indian woman. But my husbandwill be here."

  "Does M. Gifford desire to go out himself?"

  "That is his plan, I believe. Can he get back before winter?"

  "Oh, yes, or by that time."

  "I shall come often to see the little one. And when they have finishedthe--the hut, the child must come often to me. I have brought somefurnishings and pictures and a few books. There is much more in the oldchateau, and my aunt is there to take care of it. But I wanted some oldfriends about me."

  At the mention of books Rose had glanced up eagerly at Destournier. Thenthere was a sudden rush without. Both Indian boys were racing andyelling in their broken language.

  "They are coming; they are coming! The canoes are in," and both began tocaper about.

  Mere Dubray took down a leathern thong and laid it about them; but theywere like eels and glided out of her reach.

  "One was bad enough, but I could manage him. The other"--and she gaveher shoulders a shrug.

  The lady laughed. "That is like home," she said.

  "It is quite a sight. And I hope you will not be frightened, for thenext few days. I had better escort you back, I think, for there will bea crowd."

  They were guests of M. de Champlain, who had quite comfortablequarters. Beside his governmental business he was much engrossed with ahistory of his journeys and explorations and the maps he was making. Allthe furnishings were plain, as became a hardy soldier who often sleptout in the open. But the keeping room already showed some traces of awoman's love for adornment. He looked rather grim over it, but made nocomment.

  "I will come again to-morrow." Madame Giffard pressed a kiss upon thewhite forehead. The child grasped her hand with convulsive warmth.

  An hour had changed the aspect of everything. Instead of the quiet,deserted, winding ways, you could hardly call them streets, everythingseemed alive with a motley, moving throng. A long line of boats, andwhat one might call a caravan, seemed to have risen from the very earth,or been evolved from the wilderness. There were shouting and singing,white men turned to brown by exposure, Indians, half-breeds of varyingshades, and attire that was really indescribable.

  "Is it an attack?" and Madame Giffard clung to her guide in affright.

  He laughed reassuringly.

  "It is only the awakening of Quebec after its long hibernation. Theyhave been expected some days. Ah, now you will see the true businessside and really believe the town flourishing, be able to carry a goodreport back to France."

  They looked over the land side from the eminence of the fortifications.Quebec did not mean to admit these roisterers within her precincts,which were none too well guarded. Still the cannons looked ratherformidable from their embrasures. But as little would these lawless menhave cared to be under the guard of the soldiery.

  They seemed to come to a pause. Indians and half-breeds threw down theirpacks. Some sat on them and gesticulated fiercely, as if on the verge ofa quarrel. A few, who seemed the leaders, went about ordering, pointingto places where a few stakes had been driven. Great bundles wereunpacked, a centre pole reared, and a tent was in progress.

  "Why, it is like a magic play," and she clapped her hands in eagerdelight. "Will they live here? Oh, where is Laurent, I wonder. He oughtto see this."

  "They will live here a month or so. Some of the earlier ones will goaway, new ones come. The company's furs will be packed and loaded onvessels for France, but there are plenty of others who trade on theirown account. There will be roistering and drinking and quarrelling anddickering, and then the tents will be folded and packed and the throngtake up their march for the great north again, and months of hunting."

  It was fascinating to watch them. They were building stone fireplacesoutside and kindling fires. Here some deft hands were skinning a mooseor a deer and placing portions on a rude spit. And there was the Sieurde Champlain and a dozen or so of armed soldiers, he holding parley withsome of the leaders.

  "Oh, there is M. Giffard," she cried presently. "And look--arethere--women?"

  "Squaws. Oh, yes."

  "Do they travel, I mean come from the fur country? What a long journeyit must be for them."

  "They do not mind. They are nomads of the wilderness. You know theIndians never build towns as we do. Some of them settle for months untilthe hunting gives out, then they are off on a new trail."

  "What queer people. One would think the good missionaries would civilizethem, teach them to be like--can they
civilize them?"

  "After centuries, perhaps"--dryly.

  "Is all this country theirs?"

  "Well"--he lifted his eyebrows in a queer, humorous fashion. "The Kingof France thinks he has a right to what his explorers discover; the Kingof England--well, it was Queen Elizabeth, I believe, who laid claim to aportion called Virginia. She died, but the English remain. Their colonyis largely recruited from their prisons, I have heard. Then his Spanishmajesty has somewhat. It is a great land. But the French set out to savesouls and convert the heathen savages into Christian men. They have madefriends with some of the tribes. But they are not like the people ofEurope, rather they resemble the barbarians of the north. And theChurch, you know, has labored to convert them."

  "How much men know!" she said, with a long sigh of admiration.

  The sun was dropping down behind the distant mountains, pine- andfir-clad. She had never looked upon so grand a scene and was filled witha tremulous sort of awe. Up there the St. Charles river, here themajestic St. Lawrence, islands, coves, green points running out in thewater where the reedy grass waved to and fro, tangles of vines and wildflowers. And here at their feet the settlement that had just sprung intoexistence.

  "You must be fatigued," he said suddenly. "Pardon my forgetfulness. Ihave been so interested myself."

  "Yes, I am a little tired. It has been such a strange afternoon. Andthat poor little girl, Monsieur--does that woman care well for her? Shehas the coarseness of a peasant, and the child not being her own----"

  "Oh, I think she is fairly good to her. We do not expect all the graceshere in the wilderness. But I could wish----"

  Madame Gifford stumbled at that moment and might have gone over a ledgeof rock, and there were many there, but he caught her in strong arms.

  "How clumsy!" she cried. "No, I am not hurt, thanks to you. I waslooking over at that woman with something on her back that resembles achild."

  "Yes, a papoose. That is their way of carrying them."

  "Poor mother! She must get very weary."

  They threaded their way carefully to the citadel. The guard nodded andthey passed. An Indian woman was bringing in a basket of vegetables andthere was a savory smell of roasting meat.

  "Now you are safe," he said. "The Sieur would have transported me toFrance or hung me on the ramparts if any evil had happened to you."

  He gave a short laugh as if he had escaped a danger, but there was agleam of mirth in his eyes.

  "A thousand thanks, M'sieu. Though I can't think I was in any greatdanger. And another thousand for the sweet little girl. I must see agood deal of her."

  The room she entered was within the double fortification and its windowswere securely barred. The walls were of heavy timbers stained justenough to bring out the beautiful grain. But some of the dresseddeerskins were still hanging and there were festoons of wampum,curiously made bead and shell curtains interspersed with gun racks,great moose horns and deer heads, and antlers. Tables and chairscuriously made and a great couch big enough for a bed.

  But the adjoining room was the real workroom of the Sieur. Here were hisbooks, he brought a few more every time he came from France; shelves ofcuriosities, a wide stone fireplace, with sundry pipes of Indian make onthe ledges. A great table occupied the centre of the room and all aboutit were strewn papers,--maps in every state,--plans for the city, plansof fortifications, diagrams of the unsuccessful settlements, and the newproject of Mont Real. Notes on agriculture and the propagation offruits, for none better than the Sieur understood that the colony mustin some way provide its own food, that it could not depend uponsustenance from the mother country. For his ambition desired to make NewFrance the envy of the nations who had tried colonizing. He orderedcrops of wheat and rye and barley sown, and often worked in his ownfield when the moon shone with such glory that it inspired him. Andthough he had all the ardor of an explorer, he meant to turn the profitsof trade to this end, but to further it settlements were necessary, andhe bent much of his energy to the duller and more trying task ofbuilding colonies. Though the route to the Indies fired his ambition hewas in real earnest to bring this vast multitude of heathens within thepale of the Church, and to do that he must be friendly with them as faras they could be trusted, but there were times when he almost lostfaith.