A Little Girl in Old Quebec by Amanda Minnie Douglas (miss read books txt) 📕

young Pierre Gaudrion, already Catholic and Huguenot were at war: one fighting for the right to live in a certain liberty of belief, the other thinking they did God a service by undertaking their extermination.

The argument rather floored Pani, whose range of knowledge was only wide enough to know that many tribes were at bitter enmity with each other.

"Do you want to work in the garden? There are weeds enough to keep you busy," said Pierre presently.

"No," returned Pani stoutly.

"And Pani belongs to me," declared Rose.

Pierre turned to look at the girl. Her beauty stirred him strangely. Sometimes, when his father sang the old songs of home, the same quiver went through every pulse.

"I'm sorry," he said, in a gentler tone. "Now I must go back to my chair."

"Is it to be a chair?"

"I can't weave the grasses just right, though some one showed me, only I was thinking of other things."

"Let's see." Pani was a little mollified.

They went back to the boy's work.

"I'm only making a little one for Marie. Then I shall try a larger one. There are two in the room."

Yes, Rose knew them well. The place was about the same, with the great bunk on one side and the smaller one on the other. Mere Dubray's bright blankets were gone, with the pictures of the Virgin, and the high candlestick, that was alight on certain days. Little mattresses filled with dried grass were piled on top of the bunk. It looked like, and yet unlike. Rose was glad she did not live here.

Pani inspected the boy's work.

"Oh, you haven't it right. You must put pegs in here, then you can pull it up. And this is the way you go."

Pani's deft fingers went in and out like a bit of machinery. It was forest lore, and he was at home in it.

"You make it beautiful," exclaimed Pierre. "Oh, go slower, so I can understand."

Pani smiled with the praise and put in a word of explanation now and then. The boys were fast becoming friends.

"Maman," Pierre cried, "come and see how fine the boy does it. If he would come and live with us!"

"I might come a little while and look after the garden. And I could catch fish and I know the best places for berries, and the grapes will soon be ripening. And the plums. I can shoot birds with an arrow. But I belong to mam'selle."

"If she will let you come now and then," wistfully.

"Yes, I might," with an air of condescension.

"Thou art a pretty little lady," was Mere Gaudrion's parting benison to the little girl, and Rose smiled. "Come again often."

When they were out of the narrow passageway she said, "Now let us have a race. I am glad Mere Dubray is there no longer, are you not? But what a funny pile of children!"

They had their race, and a climb, and on the gallery they found miladi looking for them, and they told over their adventure.

"Yes," she said smilingly. "I think we can find a place for Pani, and between us all I fancy we can keep him so well employed he will not want to run away."


CHAPTER VI

FINDING AMUSEMENTS

About the middle of August the Sieur de Champlain and Captain Francois de Pontgrave sailed from Tadoussac for France. The Giffards, Destournier, and several others accompanied them to the port, and were then to survey some of the places that had advantages for planting colonies. They did not return until in September. The season was unusually fine and warm, and there had been an abundance of everything. The colonists had been busy enough preparing for winter. They had learned ways of drying fruit, of smoking meats and fish, of caring for their grains. There had been no talk of Indian raids, indeed the villages about were friendly with the whites, and friendly with several of the outlying tribes. Some had gone on raids farther south.

Madame Giffard would have found time hanging heavy on her hands but for the child. She began to teach her to read and to play checkers. Rose did not take kindly to embroidery, but some of the Indian work interested her. With Pani and Wanamee's assistance she made baskets and curious vase-like jars. Pierre Gaudrion came up now and then, and miladi considered him quite a prodigy in several ways.

When they were dull and tired miladi gave Rose dancing lessons. The child was really fascinated with the enjoyment. Miladi would dress up in one of her pretty gowns to the child's great delight, and they would invent wonderful figures. Sometimes the two men would join them, and they would keep up the amusement till midnight.

Pani was growing rapidly and he was their most devoted knight. And when the snows set in there were great snowballing games; sometimes between the Indians alone, at others, the whites would take a hand.

It was splendid entertainment for the children to slide about on the snowy crust, that glistened in the sunlight as if sprinkled with gems. The Indian women often participated in this amusement. And miladi looked as bewitching in her deerskin suit, with its fringes and bright adornments of feather borders, and her lovely furs, as in her Paris attire. She often thought she would like to walk into some assembly and make a stir in her strange garments.

What is the Sieur doing? Making new bargains, persuading colonists to join them, getting concessions to the profit of New France. Alas! Old France was a selfish sort of stepmother. She wanted furs, she wanted colonies planted, she wanted explorations, and possessions taken in every direction, to thwart English and Dutch, who seemed somehow to be prospering, but the money supplies were pared to the narrowest edge.

The little girl would have been much interested in one step her dear Sieur was taking, though she did not hear of it until long afterward. This was his betrothment and marriage to Marie Helene, the daughter of Nicolas Boulle, private secretary to the young King. A child of twelve, and the soldier and explorer who was now forty or over, but held his years well and the hardships had written few lines on his kindly and handsome face. That he was very much charmed with the child, who was really quite mature for her age, was true, though it is thought the friendship of her father and her dowry had some weight. But she adored her heroic lover, although she was to be returned to the convent to finish her education. Then the Sieur made his will and settled a part of the dowry on his bride, and the income of all his other property, his maps and books, "in case of his death in voyages on the sea and in the service of the King."

If the autumn had been lovely and long beyond expectations, winter lingered as well. And the travellers had a hard time on their return. Lofty bergs floated down the Atlantic, and great floes closed in around the vessel, and the rigging was encased in glittering ice. Sometimes their hearts failed them and the small boats were made ready, but whither would they steer? Captain Pontgrave kept up his courage, and "when they brought their battered craft into the harbor of Tadoussac they fired a cannon shot in joyous salute," says history. Seventy-four days had their journey lasted.

The country was still white with snow, although it was May. Already some trading vessels were bidding for furs, but the Montagnais had had a hard winter as well, and the Bay traders would have perished on the way.

Champlain pushed on to Quebec, though his heart was full of fears.

Rose was out on the gallery, that Pani was clearing from the frequent light falls of snow. A canoe was being rowed by some Indians and in the stern sat the dearly-loved Commander. "They have come! they have come!" shouted Rose, and she ran in to spread the joyful news. Destournier and Giffard were at a critical point in a game of chess, but both sprang up. The bell pealed out, there was a salute, and every one in the fort rushed out with exclamations of joy. For the sake of the little girl he had left, the Sieur stooped and kissed Rose.

Du Parc was in the best of spirits, and had only a good account. There had been no sickness, no Indian troubles, and provisions had lasted well. All was joy and congratulations. Even the Indian settlements near by built bonfires and beat their drums, dancing about with every indication of delighted welcome.

He had brought with him the young Indian Savignon, while Etienne Brule had wintered with the Ottawas, perfecting himself in their language. He was a fine specimen of his race, as far as physique went, and his winter in civilization had given him quite a polish.

There was a great feast. Miladi was in her glory ordering it, and Savignon paid her some compliments that quite savored of old times in her native land. She was fond of admiration, and here there was but small allowance of it.

He was to restore the young brave to his tribe, and Destournier was to accompany him. He saw that with trade open to rivals there must be some stations. It was true no men could be spared to form a new colony, and the few he had induced to emigrate would do better service in the old settlement. In Cartier's time there had been the village of Hochelega. It was a great stretch of open fertile land, abounding in wild fruits and grapes, so he pre-empted it in the name of the King, put up a stout cross, and built two or three log huts, and planted some grain seeds that might in turn scatter themselves around. And so began Montreal. The river was dotted with islands; the largest, on which the wild iris, the fleur-de-lis, grew abundantly, he named St. Helene, in remembrance of his little betrothed.

They pushed on beyond the rapids and here he met the Algonquins and restored their young brave to them, and was glad to find Etienne Brule in good health and spirits. But Savignon bade him farewell ruefully, declaring life in Paris was much more agreeable, and spoiled one for the wilderness.

Various bands of Hurons and Algonquins came to meet the great white Sagamore, and he secured much trade for the coming season. But the fur business was being greatly scattered, and Demont's finances were at a rather low ebb, so there could not be the necessary branching out.

Destournier had some schemes as well. He had come to the new world partly from curiosity and the desire to mend his fortunes. He saw now some fine openings, if he could get a concession or grant of land. His old family seat might be disposed of, he had not Laurent Giffard's aim to make a fortune here and go back to France and spend it for show.

Madame Giffard was deeply disappointed at this prospect, and Rose was inconsolable.

"Who will read to us in the long evenings and the days when the driving snow makes it seem like night. And oh, M'sieu, who will dance with me and tell me those delightful stories, and laugh at my sayings that come like birds' flights across my mind and go their way?"

"You will have miladi. And there are the Gaudrion children. Pierre has a heart full of worship for