"Merci! How good
to those in need! But now am I right as a trivet and shamed that I must
fail at the last. Are you ready?"
She picked up the blankets, smiled at the tall man who came for them,
and walked with them down to the canoes.
"In th' big boat, lass, wid th' women," said the leader; "'tis more
roomy-like."
"I thank you, M'sieu, but I have my place. I cannot leave it." And she
stepped in her own canoe.
"Did ye iver behold such a shmile, Terence?" cried the little woman,
when the flotilla had strung into shape and the green summer shores
were slipping past. "'Tis like the look av th' Virgin in th' little
Chapel av St. Joseph beyant Belknap's skirts,--so sad and yet as fair
as light!"
And so began with the slipping green shores, the airy summer sky laced
with its vanity of fleecy clouds, the backward journey to safety and De
Seviere.
The large party travelled at forced time, short camps and long pulls,
for, as the little woman told Maren at the next stop, they were
hurrying south to Quebec.
"Where th' ships sail out to th' risin' sun, ochone, and Home calls
over th' sea,--the little green isle wid its pigs an' its shanties, its
fairs an' its frolics, an' the merry face av th' Father to laugh at its
weddin's an' cry over its graves.
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