THE RAID FROM BEAUSÉJOUR

AND

HOW THE CARTER BOYS LIFTED THE MORTGAGE

TWO STORIES OF ACADIE

BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

CONTENTS. 

I. THE RAID FROM BEAUSÉJOUR. 

CHAPTER I. "BEAUBASSIN MUST GO!"

CHAPTER II. PIERRE VISITS THE ENGLISH LINES. 

CHAPTER III. FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 

CHAPTER IV. PREPARING FOR THE RAID. 

CHAPTER V. THE MIDNIGHT MARCH. 

CHAPTER VI. THE SURPRISE. 

CHAPTER VII. PIERRE'S LITTLE ONE. 

CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW ENGLANDERS. 

 * * * * *

II. HOW THE CARTER BOYS LIFTED THE MORTGAGE. 

CHAPTER I. CATCHING A TARTAR. 

CHAPTER II. THE HAND OF THE LAW. 

CHAPTER III. A PIECE OF ENGINEERING. 

CHAPTER IV. A RESCUE AND A BATTLE. 

CHAPTER V. THE TRANSFER OF THE MORTGAGE. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"BEAUBASSIN MUST GO!"The family were gathered in the kitchen. 

THE RAID FROM BEAUSÉJOUR. "They sped rapidly across the marsh. "

MR. HAND. "When he reached the door he knocked imperiously. "

 * * * * *

THE RAID FROM BEAUSÉJOUR. 

CHAPTER I. 

"BEAUBASSIN MUST GO!"

On the hill of Beauséjour, one April morning in the year 1750 A. D. , a little group of French soldiers stood watching, with gesturesof anger and alarm, the approach of several small ships acrossthe yellow waters of Chignecto Bay. The ships were flying Britishcolors. Presently they came to anchor near the mouth of the Missaguash, a narrow tidal river about two miles to the southeast of Beauséjour. There the ships lay swinging at their cables, and all seemed quieton board. The group on Beauséjour knew that the British would attemptno landing for some hours, as the tide was scarce past the ebb, andhalf a mile of red mire lay between the water and the firm green edgesof the marsh. 

The French soldiers were talking in loud, excited tones. As they spokea tallish lad drew near and listened eagerly. The boy, who was apparentlyabout sixteen or seventeen years of age, was clad in the rough, yellow-gray homespun cloth of the Acadians. His name was PierreLecorbeau, and he had just come from the village of Beaubassin tocarry eggs, milk, and cheeses to the camp on Beauséjour. The wordshe now heard seemed to concern him deeply, for his dark face paledanxiously as he listened. 

"Yes, I tell you, " one of the soldiers was saying, "Beaubassin must go. Monsieur the abbé has said so. You know, he came into camp this morningabout daybreak, and has been shut up with the colonel ever since. But hetalks so loud when he's angry that Jacques has got hold of all his plans. His Reverence has brought two score of his Micmacs with him from Cobequid, and has left 'em over in the woods behind Beaubassin. He swears thatsooner than let the English establish themselves in the village andmake friends with those mutton-head Acadians, he will burn the wholeplace to the ground. "

"And he'll do it, too, will the terrible father!" interjected anothersoldier. 

"When will the fun begin?" asked a third. 

"O!" responded the first speaker, "if the villagers make no fuss, and areready to cross the river and come and settle over here with us, they shallhave all the time they want for removing their stuff--all day, in fact. But if they are stubborn, and would like to stay where they are, andknuckle down to the English, they will see their roofs blazing overtheir heads just about the time the first English boat puts off forshore. If any one kicks, why, as like as not, one of His Reverence'sred skins will lift his hair for him. "

A chorus of exclamations, with much shrugging of shoulders, went roundthe group at this; and one said thoughtfully: "When my fighting daysare over, and I get back to France, I shall pray all the saints to keepFather Le Loutre in Acadie. With such fierce priests in old FranceI should be afraid to go to mass!"

Pierre listened to all this with a sinking heart. Not waiting to hearmore, he turned away, with the one thought of getting home as soon aspossible to warn his father of the destruction hanging over theirhappy home. At this moment the soldier who had been doing most of thetalking caught sight of him, and called out:

"Hullo, youngster, come here a minute!"

Pierre turned back with obvious reluctance, and the speaker continued:

"Your father, now, the good Antoine--whom may the saints preserve, for his butter and his cheeses are right excellent--does he greatlylove this gentle abbé of yours?"

The boy looked about him apprehensively, and blurted out, "No, monsieur!" A flush mounted to his cheek, and he continued, in a voiceof bitterness, "We hate him!" Then, as if terrified with having spokenhis true thought, the lad darted away down the slope, and was soonseen speeding at a long trot across the young grass of the marshto the ford of the Missaguash. 

At the time when our story opens, events in Acadie were fast ripeningto that unhappy issue known as "the expulsion of the Acadians, " whichfurnished Longfellow with the theme of "Evangeline. " The Acadianpeninsula, now Nova Scotia, had been ceded by France to England. The dividing line between French and English territory was theMissaguash stream, winding through the marshes of the isthmus ofChignecto which connects Acadie with the mainland. The Acadians hadbecome British subjects in name, but all the secret efforts of Francewere devoted to preventing them from becoming so in sentiment. What isnow New Brunswick was still French territory, as were also Prince EdwardIsland and Cape Breton. It was the hope of the French king, Louis XV, that if the Acadians could be kept thoroughly French at heart Acadiemight yet be won back to shine on the front of New France. 

As the two nations were now at peace, any tampering with the allegianceof the Acadians could only be carried on in secret. In the hands ofthe French there remained just two forces to be employed--persuasionand intimidation; and their religion was the medium through whichthese forces were applied. The Acadians had their own priests. Such ofthese as would lend themselves to the schemes of the government wereleft in their respective parishes; others, more conscientious, weretransferred to posts where their scruples would be less inconvenient. If any Acadian began to show signs of wishing to live his own lifequietly, careless as to whether a Louis or a George reigned over him, he was promptly brought to terms by the threat that the Micmacs, whoremained actively French, would be turned loose upon him. Under sucha threat the unhappy Acadian made all haste to forget his partialityfor the lenient British rule. 

The right hand of French influence in Acadie at this time was thefamous Abbé Le Loutre, missionary to the Micmac Indians at Cobequid. To this man's charge may well be laid the larger part of the misfortuneswhich befell the Acadian people. He was violent in his hatred of theEnglish, unscrupulous in his methods, and utterly pitiless in thecarrying out of his project. His energy and his vindictiveness werealike untiring; and his ascendency over his savage flock, who had beenChristianized in name only, gave a terrible weapon into his hands. Liberal were the rewards this fierce priest drew from the coffers ofQuebec and of Versailles. 

In order to keep the symbol of French power and authority ever beforeAcadian eyes, and to hinder the spread of English influence, a forcehad been sent from Quebec, under the officers La Corne and Boishébert, to hold the hill of Beauséjour, which was practically the gate of Acadie. From Beauséjour the flourishing settlement of Beaubassin, on the Englishside of the Missaguash, was overawed and kept to the French allegiance. The design of the French was to induce all those Acadians whom theycould absolutely depend upon to remain in their homes within the Englishlines, as a means whereby to confound the English counsels. Those, however, who were suspected of leaning to the British, either fromsloth or policy, were to be bullied, coaxed, frightened, or compelledby Le Loutre and his braves into forsaking their comfortable homesand moving into new settlements on the French side of the boundary. 

But the English authorities at Halifax, after long and astonishingforbearance, had begun to develop a scheme of their own; and the fleetwhich, on this April morning, excited such consternation among thewatchers on Beauséjour, formed a part of it. Lord Cornwallis had decidedthat an English force established in Beaubassin would be the mosteffective check upon the influence of Beauséjour; and the vessels nowat anchor off the mouth of the red and winding Missaguash containeda little army of four hundred British troops, under command of MajorLawrence. This expedition had been sent out from Halifax with acommendable secrecy, but neither its approach nor its purpose couldbe kept hidden from the ever-alert Le Loutre. Since Beaubassin wason British soil, no armed opposition could be made to the landingof the British force; and the troops on Beauséjour could only gnawtheir mustaches and gaze in angry silence. But Le Loutre was resolvedthat on the arrival of the British there should be no more Beaubassin. The villagers were not to remain in such bad company!

Pierre Lecorbeau was swift of foot. As he sped across the gray-greenlevels, at this season of the year spongy with rains, he glanced overhis shoulder and saw the abbé, with his companions, just quitting thelog cabin which served as the quarters of Boishébert. The boy's browtook on a yet darker shadow. When he reached the top of the dike thatbordered the Missaguash, he paused an instant and gazed seaward. Pierre was eagerly French at heart, loving France, as he hatedLe Loutre, with a fresh and young enthusiasm; and as his eyes restedon the crimson folds, the red, blue, and white crosses that streamedfrom the topmasts of the English ships, his eyes flashed with keenhostility. Then he vanished over the dike, and was soon splashingthrough the muddy shallows of the ford. The water was fast deepening, and he thought to himself, "If Monsieur the abbé doesn't hurry, he will have to swim where I am walking but knee-deep!"

There was another stretch of marsh for Pierre to cross ere reachingthe gentle and fruitful slopes on which the village was outspread. On the very edge of the village, halfway up a low hill jutting outinto the Missaguash marsh, stood the cabin of Pierre's father amidits orchards. There was little work to do on the farm at this season. The stock had all been tended, and the family were gathered in thekitchen when Pierre, breathless and gasping, burst in with his eviltidings. 

Now in the household of Antoine Lecorbeau, and in Beaubassin generally, not less than among the garrison of Beauséjour, the coming of theEnglish fleet had produced a commotion. But in the heart of Lecorbeauthere was less anxiety than curiosity. This temperate and sagaciousfarmer, had preserved an appearance of unimpeachable fidelity to theFrench, but in his inmost soul he appreciated the tolerance of theBritish rule, and longed to see it strengthened. If the visitors werecoming to stay, as was rumored to be the case, then, to AntoineLecorbeau's thinking, the day was a lucky one for Beaubassin. Hethought how he would snap his fingers at Le Loutre and his Micmacs. But he was beginning to exult too soon. 

When Pierre told his story, and the family realized that their kindlyhome was doomed, the little dark kitchen, with its wooden ceiling, wasfilled with lamentations. Such of the children as were big enough tounderstand the calamity wept aloud, and the littler ones cried fromsympathy. Pierre's father for a moment appeared bowed down beneaththe stroke, but the mother, a stout, dark, gentle-faced woman, suddenlystopped her sobs and cried out in a shrill voice, with her queer Bretonaccent:

"Antoine, Antoine, we will defy the wicked, cruel abbé, and pray theEnglish to protect us from him. Did not Father Xavier, just before hewas sent away, tell us that the English were just, and that it was ourduty to be faithful to them? How can we go out into this rough springweather with no longer a roof to cover us?"

This appeal roused the Acadian. His shrewd sense and knowledge of thosewith whom he had to deal came at once to his aid. 

"Nay, nay, mother!" said he, rising and passing his gnarled hand overhis forehead, "it is even as Pierre has said. We must be the firstto do the bidding of the abbé, and must seem to do it of our own accord. It will be hours yet ere the English be among us, and long ere Le Loutrewill have had time to work his will upon those who refuse to do hisbidding. Do thou get the stuff together. This night we must sleepon the shore of the stream and find us a new home at Beauséjour. To the sheds, Pierre, and yoke the cattle. Hurry, boy, hurry, forthere is everything to do and small time for the doing of it. "

From Lecorbeau's cottage the news of Le Loutre's decree spread likewildfire through the settlement. Some half dozen reckless charactersdeclared at once in the abbé's favor, and set out across the marsh towelcome him and offer their aid. A few more, a very few, set themselvesreluctantly to follow the example of Antoine Lecorbeau, who bore agreat name in the village for his wise counsels. But most of thevillagers got stubborn, and vowed that they would stay by their homes, whether it was Indians or English bid them move. The resolution ofthese poor souls was perhaps a little shaken as a long line of paintedand befeathered Micmacs, appearing from the direction of the woodedhills of Jolicoeur, drew stealthily near and squatted down in theoutermost skirts of the village. But Beaubassin had not had the experiencewith Le Loutre that had fallen to the lot of other settlements, andthe unwise ones hardened their hearts in their decision. 

As Le Loutre, with his little party, entered the village, he met AntoineLecorbeau setting out for Beauséjour with a huge cartload of householdgoods, drawn by a yoke of oxen. The abbé's fierce, close-set eyesgleamed with approval, and he accosted the old man in a cordial voice. 

"This is indeed well done, Antoine. I love thy zeal for the grand cause. The saints will assuredly reward thee, and I will myself do for thee thelittle that lies in my poor power! But why so heavy of cheer, man?"

"Alas, father!" returned Lecorbeau, sadly, "this is a sorrowful day. It is a grievous hardship to forsake one's hearth, and these fruitfulfields, and this well bearing orchard that I have planted with my ownhands. But better this than to live in humiliation and in jeopardy everyhour; for I learn that these English are coming to take possessionand to dwell among us!"

The abbé, as Lecorbeau intended, quite failed to catch the doublemeaning in this speech, which he interpreted in accordance with hisown feelings. Like many another unscrupulous deceiver, Le Loutre washimself not difficult to deceive. 

"Well, cheer up, Antoine!" he replied, "for thou shalt have good landson the other side of the hill; and thou wilt count thyself blest whenthou seest what shall happen to some of these slow beasts here, who careneither for France nor the Church so long as they be let alone to sleepand fill their bellies. "

As the great cart went creaking on, Lecorbeau looked over his shoulder, with an inscrutable gaze, and watched the retreating figure of the priest. 

"Thou mayst be a good servant to France, " he murmured, "but it is an illservice, a sorry service, thou dost the Church!"

Within the next few hours, while Antoine and his family had been gettingnearly all their possessions across the Missaguash, first by the fords, and then by the aid of the great scow which served for a ferry at hightide, the tireless abbé had managed to coax or threaten nearly everyinhabitant of the village. His Indians stalked after him, apparentlyheedless of everything. His few allies among the Acadians, who hadassumed the Indian garb for the occasion, scattered themselves overthe settlement repeating the abbé's exhortations; but the villagers, though with anxious hearts, held to their cabins, refusing to stir, and watching for the English boats to come ashore. They did not realizehow intensely in earnest and how merciless the abbé could be, for theyhad nothing but hearsay and his angry face to judge by. But theirawakening was soon to come. 

Early in the afternoon the tide was nigh the full. At a signal fromthe masthead of the largest ship there spread a sudden activitythroughout the fleet, and immediately a number of boats were lowered. For this the abbé had been waiting. Snatching a blazing splinterof pine from the hearth of a cottage close to the church, he rushedup to the homely but sacred building about which clustered the warmestaffections of the villagers. At the same moment several of his followersappeared with armfuls of straw from a neighboring barn. This inflammablestuff, with some dry brush, was piled into the porch and fired by theabbé's own hand. The structure was dry as tinder, and almost instantlya volume of smoke rolled up, followed by long tongues of eager flame, which looked strangely pallid and cruel in the afternoon sunshine. A yell broke from the Indians, and then there fell a silence, brokenonly by the crackling of the flames. The English troops, realizingin a moment what was to occur, bent to their oars with redoubled vigor, thinking to put a stop to the shameless work. And the name of Le Loutrewas straightway on their lips. 

CHAPTER II. 

PIERRE VISITS THE ENGLISH LINES. 

The ships were a mile from shore, and the shore nearly a league fromthe doomed village. When that column of smoke and flame rolled up overtheir beloved church the unhappy Acadian villagers knew, too late, the character of the man with whom they had to deal. It was no timefor them to look to the ships for help. They began with trembling hasteto pack their movables, while Le Loutre and a few of his supporterswent from house to house with great coolness, deaf to all entreaties, and behind the feet of each sprang up a flame. A few of the more stolidor more courageous of the villagers still held out, refusing to moveeven at the threat of the firebrand; but these gave way when the Indianscame up, yelling and brandishing their tomahawks. Le Loutre proclaimedthat anyone refusing to cross the lines and take refuge at Beauséjourshould be scalped. The rest, he said, might retain possession of justso much of their stuff as they could rescue from the general conflagration. The English, he swore, should find nothing of Beaubassin except its ashes. 

Presently the thin procession of teams, winding its gloomy way acrossthe plains of the Missaguash toward Beauséjour, became a hurrying throngof astonished and wailing villagers, each one carrying with him on hisback or in his rude ox cart the most precious of his movable possessions;while the women, with loud sobbing, dragged along by their hands thefrightened and reluctant little ones. By another road, leading intothe wooded hills where the villagers were wont to cut their winterfirewood, a few of the more hardy and impetuous of the Acadians, disdaining to bend to the authority of Le Loutre, fled away into thewilds with their muskets and a little bread; and these the Indiansdared not try to stop. 

The English boats, driven furiously, dashed high up the slippery beach, and the troops swarmed over the brown and sticky dikes. Major Lawrenceled the way at a run across the marshes; but the soft soil cloggedtheir steps, and a wide bog forced them far to one side. When theyreached the outskirts of the village the sorrowful dusk of the Aprilevening was falling over the further plains and the full tide behindthem, but the sky in front was ablaze. There was little wind, and theflames shot straight aloft, and the smoke hung on the scene in densecurtains, doubling the height of the hill behind the village, andreflecting back alike the fierce heat and the dreadful glare. At oneside, skulking behind some outlying barns just bursting into flame, a few Indians were sighted and pursued. The savages fired once on theirpursuers, and then, with a yell of derision and defiance, disappearedbehind the smoke. The English force went into camp with the conflagrationcovering its rear, and philosophically built its camp fires and cookedits evening meal with the aid of the burning sheds and hayricks. 

As Pierre Lecorbeau drove his ox cart up the slope of Beauséjour towardthe commandant's cabin, where his father was awaiting him, he haltedand looked back while the blowing oxen took breath. His mother, who hadstayed to the last, was sitting in the cart on a pile of her treasures. The children had been taken to a place of safety by their father, whohad left the final stripping of the home to his wife and boy, whilehe went ahead to arrange for the night's shelter. Antoine Lecorbeauhad lost his home, his farm, his barns, his orchards, and his easysatisfaction with life; but thanks to Pierre's promptitude and his ownshrewdness he had saved all his household stuff, his cattle, his hayand grain, and the little store of gold coin which had been hiddenunder the great kitchen hearth. His house was the last to be fired, and even now, as Pierre and his mother stood watching, long red hornsof flame were pushed forth, writhing, from the low gables. The two weresilent, save for the woman's occasional heavy sobs. Presently the rooffell in, and then the boy's wet eyes flashed. A body of the Englishtroops could be seen pitching tents in the orchard. "Mother!" saidthe boy, "what if we had stayed at home and waited for these Englishto protect us? They are our enemies, these English; and the abbé isour enemy; and the Indians are our enemies; and our only friendsare--yonder!"

As Pierre spoke he turned his back on the lurid sky and pointed to thecrest of Beauséjour. There, in long, dark lines, stood nearly a thousandFrench troops, drawn up on parade. The light from the ruined villagegleamed in blood-red flashes from their steel, and over them the bannerof France flapped idly with its lilies. 

That night, because Antoine Lecorbeau was a leader among the villagersof Beaubassin, he and his family had shelter in a small but warm stablewhere some of the officers' horses were quartered. Their goods werestacked and huddled together in the open air, and Pierre and his fathercut boughs and spread blankets to cover them from the weather. In thewarm straw of the stable, hungry and homesick, the children clung abouttheir mother and wept themselves to sleep. But they were fortunatecompared with many of their acquaintances, whom Pierre could seecrowded roofless about their fires, in sheltered hollows and underthe little hillside copses. The night was raw and showery, and therewas not houseroom in Beauséjour for a tenth part of the homeless Acadians. 

By dawn Pierre was astir. He rose from his cramped position under amanger, stretched himself, shook the chaff and dust from his thick blackhair, and stepped out into the chilly morning. The cattle had been hobbledand allowed to feed at large, but the boy's eye soon detected that his petyoke had disappeared. Nowhere on Beauséjour could they be found, and heconcluded they must have freed themselves completely and wandered backhome. Pierre had no reason to fear the English, but he dreaded lest thetroops should take a fancy to make beef out of his fat oxen; so, aftera word to his father, he set out for the burned village. Early as it was, however, Beauséjour was all astir when he left, and he wondered what thesoldiers were so busy about. 

As Pierre approached the smoldering ruins of his home, an English soldier, standing on guard before the tents in the orchard, ordered him to halt. Pierre didn't understand the word, but he comprehended the tone in whichit was uttered. He saw his beloved oxen standing with bowed heads bythe water trough, and he tried to make the soldier understand that hehad come for those oxen, which belonged to him. On this point Pierrespoke very emphatically, as if to make his French more intelligibleto the Englishman. But his struggles were all in vain. The soldierlooked first puzzled, then vacuously wise; then he knit his brows andlooked at the oxen. Finally he laughed, took Pierre by the elbow, andled him toward one of the tents. At this moment a pleasant-facedyoung officer came out of the tent, and, taking in the situationat a glance, addressed Pierre in French:

"Well, my boy, " said he, kindly, "what are you doing here so early?"

Pierre became polite at once; so surely does courtesy find courtesy. 

"Sir, " said he, taking off his hat, "I have come after my father's oxen, those beasts yonder, which strayed back here in the night. This was ourhome yesterday. "

Pierre's voice quivered as he spoke these last words. 

The officer looked very much interested. 

"Certainly, " said he, "you shall have your oxen. We don't take anythingthat doesn't belong to us. But tell me, why is not this your home to-day?Why have you all burnt down your houses and run away? We are the truefriends of all the Acadians. What had you to fear?"

"_We_ didn't do it!" replied the boy. "It was monsieur the abbé andhis Indians; and they threatened to scalp us all if we didn't leavebefore you came!"

The young officer's face grew very stern at the mention of the abbé, whom he knew to mean Le Loutre. 

"Ah!" he muttered, "I see it all now! We might have expected as muchfrom that snake! But tell me, " he continued to Pierre, "what is going onover on the hill this morning? They are not going to attack us, arethey? We are on English soil here. They know that!"

"I don't know, " said Pierre, looking about him, and over at Beauséjour. "They _were_ very busy getting things ready for something when I left. But I wanted my oxen, and I didn't wait to ask. May I take them awaynow, monsieur?"

"Very well, " answered the officer, and he offered Pierre a shilling. To his astonishment Pierre drew himself up and wouldn't touch it. Theyoung man still held it out to him, saying: "Why, it is only a littlememento! See, it has a hole in it, and you can keep it to rememberCaptain Howe by. I have many friends among your people!"

"My heart is French, " replied Pierre, with resolution. "I cannot takemoney from an enemy. "

"But we English are _not_ your enemies. We wish to do you good, to winyour love. It is that wicked Le Loutre who is your enemy. "

"Yes, " assented Pierre, very heartily. "We all hate him. And many of uslove the English, and would be friends if we dared; but _I_ do notlove any but the Holy Saints and the French. I love France!" and theboy's voice rang with enthusiasm. 

A slight shade of sadness passed over the young captain's earnest face. Edward Howe was known throughout Acadia as a lover of the Acadians, andas one who had more than once stood between them and certain well-deservedrestraint. He was attracted by Pierre's intelligence of face andrespectful fearlessness of demeanor, and he determined to give theyoung enthusiast something to think about. 

"Do you not know, " said he, "that your beloved France is at the backof all this misery?" And he pointed to the smoking ruins of the village. "Do you not know that it is the gold of the French king that paysLe Loutre and his savages? Do you not know that while King Louisinstructs his agents in Quebec and Louisburg and yonder at Beauséjour, to excite the Indians, and certain of your own people too, to all sortsof outrages against peaceful English settlers, he at the same time putsall the blame upon _your_ people, and swears that he does his utmostto restrain you? O, you are so sorely deceived, and some day you willopen your eyes to it, but perhaps too late! My heart bleeds for yourunhappy people. "

The young man turned back into his tent, after a word to the sentry whohad brought Pierre in. The boy stood a few moments in irresolution, wanting to speak again to the young officer, whose frank eyes andwinning manner had made a deep impression upon him. But his faith inthe France of his imagination was not daunted. Presently, speaking tohis oxen in a tone of command, he drove the submissive brutes awayacross the marsh. 

As he left the English camp a bugle rang out shrilly behind him, anda great stir arose in the lines. He glanced about him, and continuedhis way. Then he observed that the slopes of Beauséjour were dark withbattalions on the march, and he realized with a thrill that the lilieswere advancing to give battle. In another moment, looking behind him, he saw the scarlet lines of the English already under arms, and asignal gun boomed from the ships. 

Trembling with excitement, and determined to carry a musket in the comingfray, Pierre urged his oxen into a gallop, and made a detour to getaround the French army. By the time he got back to his stable, andpossessed himself of his father's musket, and started down the hillat a run, expecting every moment to hear his father's voice calling himto return, the soldiers of France had reached the river. But here theyhalted, making no move to cross into English territory. To have done sowould have been a violation of the existing treaty between France andEngland. 

Major Lawrence, however, did not suspect that the French movement wasmerely what is known as a demonstration. He took it for granted thatthe French were waiting only for some favorable condition of the tidein order to cross over and attack him in his position. He saw that theFrench force three or four times outnumbered his own; and as hismission was one of pacification, he decided not to shed blood uselessly. He ordered a retreat to the ship. The men went very reluctantly, hatingto seem overawed; but Major Lawrence explained the situation, anddeclared that, Beaubassin being burned, there was no special objectin remaining. He further promised that later in the summer he would comeagain, with a force that would be large enough for the undertaking, andwould build a strong fort on the hill at whose foot they were nowencamped. Then the red files marched sullenly back to their boats;while a body of Indians, reappearing from the woods, yelled and dancedtheir defiance, and the French across the river shouted their mockingballads. 

CHAPTER III. 

FRENCH AND ENGLISH. 

When it was seen that the English were actually reembarking, a fierceindignation broke out against Le Loutre for the useless cruelty andprecipitancy of his action. The French troops had some little feelingfor the houseless villagers, and they were angered at being deprivedof their chief and most convenient source of supplies. The fierce abbéinsisted that the movement of the English was a ruse of some sort;but when the ships got actually under way, with a brisk breeze in theirsails, he withdrew in deep chagrin, and returned with his Micmacsto his village on the muddy Shubenacadie. Relieved of his dreadedpresence the Acadians set bravely to work building cabins on the newlands which were allotted them back of Beauséjour, and along theMissaguash, Au Lac, and Tantramar streams. A few were rash enoughto return to their former holdings in Beaubassin, rebuilding amongthe ashes; but not so Antoine Lecorbeau. On the northwest slope ofBeauséjour, where a fertile stretch of uplands skirts the commencementof the Great Tantramar marsh, he obtained an allotment, and laid hishearthstone anew. The burning of Beaubassin had not made him loveFrance the more, but it had cooled his liking for the English. The wordsof Captain Howe, nevertheless, which Pierre had repeated to himfaithfully, lay rankling in his heart, and he harbored a bittersuspicion as to the good faith of the French authorities. He saw thatthey professed disapproval of the methods of Le Loutre, but he beganto doubt the sincerity of this disapproval. Pierre, however, wastroubled by no such misgivings. 

The summer, though a laborious one, slipped by not at all unpleasantly. Mother Lecorbeau soon had a roof to shelter her little brood of swarthyroisterers; a rough shed, built over a hillside spring in a group ofwillows, served as the dairy wherein she made the butter and cheeseso appreciated by the warriors on Beauséjour. Lecorbeau got in cropsboth on his new lands and on the old farm, and saw the apples ripeningabundantly around the ruins of his home in Beaubassin. As for Pierre, in his scanty hours of leisure he was always to be found on the hill, where an old color sergeant, pleased with his intelligence and hisambition to become a soldier of France, was teaching him to read andwrite. This friendly veteran was, in his comrades' eyes, a marvel ofclerkly skill, for in those days the ability to read and write was byno means a universal possession among the soldiers of France. 

One evening in the first of the autumn, when here and there on thedark Minudie hills could be seen the scarlet gleam of an early-turningmaple, just as the bay had become a sheet of glowing copper under thesunset, a rosy sail appeared on the horizon. The pacing sentry on thebrow of Beauséjour stopped to watch it. Presently another rose intoview, and another, and another; and then Beauséjour knew that the Englishfleet had returned. Before the light faded out the watchers had countedseventeen ships; and when the next morning broke the whole squadron waslying at anchor about three miles from the shore. 

With the first of daylight Pierre and his father hastened up the hillto find out what was to be done. To their astonishment they learnedthat the troops on Beauséjour would do just nothing, unless the Englishshould attempt to land on the French side of the Missaguash. They hadreceived from Quebec a caution not to transgress openly any treatyobligations. To Antoine Lecorbeau this news seemed not unwelcome. He was for quiet generally. But Pierre showed in his face, and, indeed, proclaimed aloud, his disappointment. The old sergeant laughed at hiseager pupil, and remarked:

"O, my young fire eater, _you_ shall have a chance at the beefeatersif you like! His Reverence the abbé arrived in Beauséjour last night aboutmidnight, and he's going to fight, if we can't. Treaties don't bother himmuch. He's got all his Micmacs with him, I guess. There they go now--theother side of the stream. In a bit you'll see them at work strengtheningthe line of the dike. They're going to give it to the beefeaters prettyhot when they try to come ashore. There's your chance now for a brush. His Reverence will take you, fast enough. "

"Pierre shall do nothing of the sort, whether he wants to or not, "interrupted Lecorbeau, with sharp emphasis. 

"I wouldn't fight under him!" ejaculated the boy, with a ring of scornin his voice. 

The old sergeant shrugged his shoulders. 

"O, very well, " said he. "I'm of the same way of thinking myself. But allyour people are not so particular. Look now, over at the dike. Did youever see an Indian that could handle the shovel as those fellows aredoing. I tell you, half those Indians are just your folks dressed-up, and painted red and black, and with feathers stuck in their hair. The abbé ropes a lot of you into this business, and you're lucky, Antoine Lecorbeau, that he hasn't called on you or Pierre yet. "

At this suggestion Lecorbeau looked grim, but troubled. As for Pierre, however, with a boy's confidence, he exclaimed:

"Just let him call. I think I see him getting us!"

Yet, for all his bitterness against Le Loutre, Pierre felt the feverof battle stir within him as he watched the preparations behind the long, red Missaguash dike. His father, seeing the excitement in his flashingeyes and flushed countenance, exacted from him then and there a promisethat he would take no part in the approaching conflict. 

On that September day the tide was full about noon, and with the tidecame in the English ships. Knowing the anchorage, they came right intothe river's mouth, in a long, ominously silent line. The mixed rabbleof Le Loutre crowded low behind their breastworks; and hundreds of eagereyes on Beauséjour strained their sight to catch the first flash ofthe battle. 

"Do you see that little knoll yonder with the poplars on it?" said Pierreto his father and the sergeant. "Let's go over there and hide in thebushes, and we can see twice as well as we can from here. There'sa little creek makes round it on the far side, and we'll be justas safe as here!"

"Yes, " responded the sergeant, "it's a fine advanced post. We'll justslip down round the foot of the hill as if we were bound for the dikes, so there won't be a crowd following us. "

[Illustration "They sped rapidly across the marsh. "]

As the three sped rapidly across the marsh, Antoine Lecorbeau saidsignificantly to his son:

"Do you see how these English spare our people? They haven't fireda single big gun, yet with the metal on board their ships they couldknock those breastworks and the men behind them into splinters. Theycould batter down the dike, and let the tide right in on them. "

"Aye! aye!" assented the old sergeant, "they're a brave foe, andI would we could have a brush with them. They're landing now withoutfiring a shot!"

At this moment the irregular firing from the breastwork grew more rapidand sustained, and our three adventurers hurried on to the knoll, eagerfor a better view. They found the post already occupied by half a dozeninterested villagers, who paid no attention to the new arrivals. 

By this time the English boats had reached the water's edge. On thisoccasion Major Lawrence had nearly eight hundred men at his command, and was resolved to carry his enterprise to a successful issue. The troops did not wait to form, under the now galling fire from thebreastwork, but swarmed up the red slope in loose skirmishing order, pouring in a hot dropping fire as they ran. As they reached the dikea ringing cheer broke out, and they dashed at the awkward and slipperysteep. 

A few reached the top, and for a moment the English colors crowned theembankment. But at the same time the painted defenders rose with a yell, and beat back their assailants with gunstock and hatchet. The red flagwas seized by a tall savage, and Pierre gave a little cry of excitementas he thought the enemies' colors were captured. But his enthusiasm waspremature. The stripling who carried the colors, finding no chanceto use his sword, grasped the Indian about the waist and dragged himoff the dike, when he was promptly made captive. 

Now the English withdrew a few paces, held back with difficulty bytheir officers, and one, whom the watchers on the knoll took for Lawrencehimself was seen giving orders, standing with his back half turned tothe breastwork, as undisturbed as if the shower of Micmac bullets werea snowstorm. Presently the redcoats charged again, this time slowlyand silently, in long, regular lines. 

"Ah!" exclaimed the sergeant under his breath, "they'll go throughthis time. That advance means business!"

In fact, they did go through. At the very foot of the dike a singlevolley flashed forth along the whole line, momentarily clearing the topof the barrier. The next instant the dike was covered with scarletfigures. Along its crest there was a brief struggle, hand to hand, and then the braves of Le Loutre were seen fleeing through the smoke. 

The Missaguash is a stream with as many windings as the storied Meander, and about half a mile beyond the lines which the English had just carriedthe contortions of the channel brought another and almost parallel ridgeof dike. Over this the flying rout of Micmacs and Acadians clambered withalacrity, while the English forces halted where they found themselves. 

To the little knot of watchers on the knoll the contest had seemedtoo brief, the defeat of their people most inglorious. 

"As a fighting man monsieur the abbé makes rather a poor show, howevergood he may be at burning people's houses!" exclaimed Pierre, in a voicethat trembled with a mixture of enthusiasm for the cause, and scornfor him who had it in charge. 

"You will find, my son, " said Lecorbeau, sententiously, "that the crueland pitiless are often without real courage!"

"O!" laughed the old sergeant, "I'll wager my boots that His Reverenceis not in the fight at all. It's likely one of his understrappers, FatherGermain, perhaps, or that cutthroat half-breed, Etienne Le Bâtard, or Father Laberne, or the big Chief Cope himself, is leading the fightand carrying out the saintly abbé's orders. "

"Fools! Fools and revilers!" exclaimed a deep and cutting voice behindthem; and turning with a start they saw the dreaded Le Loutre standingin their midst. Lecorbeau and Pierre became pale with apprehension andsuperstitious awe, while the old sergeant laughed awkwardly, abashedthough not dismayed. 

The abbé's sallow face worked with anger, and for a moment his narroweyes blazed upon Lecorbeau and seemed to read his very soul. Then, ashe glanced across the marsh, his countenance changed. A fanatic zealillumined it, taking away half its repulsiveness. 

"Nay!" he cried, "I am _not_ there in the battle. France and the Churchneed me, and what am I that I should risk, to be thought bold, a lifethat I must rather hold sacred. Should a chance ball strike me downwhich of you traitors and self-seekers is there that could do my work?Which of you could govern my fierce flock?"

To this tirade, which showed them their tormentor in a new light, Pierreand his father could say nothing. Wondering, but not believing, theyexchanged stolen glances. It is probable that the abbé, in his presentmood, was sincere; for in a fanatic one must allow for the wildestinconsistencies. The old sergeant, more skeptical than the Acadians, was, at the same time more polite. He hastened to murmur, apologetically:

"Pardon me, Reverend Father! I see that I misunderstood you!"

Le Loutre made no answer, for now events on the battlefield wereenchaining every eye. 

Behind the second line of dikes the Micmacs and Acadians had againintrenched themselves. Major Lawrence, perceiving this, at once orderedanother charge. Then the Indians resolved on a bold and perilous stroke. 

The right of their position was nearest the attacking force. At thispoint, acting under a sudden inspiration, they began to cut the dike. Almost instantly a breach began to appear, under the attack of a dozendiking spades wielded with feverish energy. 

An involuntary cry of consternation went up from the group of Acadianson the knoll, but the grim abbé shouted, "Well done! Well done! my brave, my true Laberne!" And he rushed from his hiding place on some new errand, leaving the air lighter for his absence. 

The English detected at once the maneuver of their opponents. They brokeinto a fierce rush, determined to stop the work of destruction beforeit should be too late. From his left Major Lawrence threw out a fewskilled marksmen, who concentrated a telling fire upon the diggers, delaying but not putting an end to the furious energy of their efforts. Already a stream of turbid water was stealing through. Presently itgathered force and volume, spreading out swiftly across the marsh, and at the same time the crest of the dike was fringed with smokeand the pale flashes of the muskets. 

The tide was now on the ebb, and a current set strongly against the pointof dike where the diggers were at work. This fact tended to make theresults of their work the more immediately apparent, rendering mightyassistance to every stroke of the spade. At the same time, however, it told heavily in favor of the English, for, in order to counteractthe special stream, the dike at this point was of great additionalstrength. Moreover, in the tidal rivers of that region the ebb andflow are so vast and so swift, that the English hoped the tide wouldbe below a dangerous level before the destruction of the dike couldbe accomplished. 

In this hope they were right. Ere they had more than half crossedthe stretch of marsh the waters of the Missaguash were oozing abouttheir ankles. But as they neared the dike it had grown no deeper. They saw the diggers throw down their spades, pick up their muskets, and fall in with their comrades behind the dike. The fire from the topof the barrier ceased, and in silence, with loaded weapons, the Indiansawaited the assault. From this it was plain to Major Lawrence that thedefense was in the hands of a European. He straightened out his linesbefore the charge. 

CHAPTER IV. 

PREPARING FOR THE RAID. 

"Thank heaven!" ejaculated Antoine Lecorbeau, "they have savedthe dike!"

In Acadian eyes to tamper with the dikes was sacrilege. 

"Well!" said the sergeant, with a somewhat cynical chuckle, "at leastthe English have got their feet wet!"

Pierre broke off his laugh in the middle, for at this moment the redlines charged. The deadly volley which rang out along the summit foran instant staggered the assailants; but they rallied and went overthe barrier like a scarlet wave. The dike was much easier to scale whenthus approached on the landward side. 

And now ensued a fierce hand-to-hand struggle. The spectators couldhardly contain their excitement as they saw their party, fightingdoggedly, forced back step by step to the edge of the water. Some, slipping in the ooze of the retreating tide, fell and were carrieddown by the current. These soon swam ashore--discreetly landing onthe further side of the river. The rest seeing the struggle hopeless, now broke and fled with a celerity that the English could not hopeto rival. Along the flats, for perhaps a mile, a detachment of theEnglish pursued them till a bugle sounded their recall. Then MajorLawrence, finding himself master of the field, directed his marchto that low hill where he had encamped the previous spring, and afatigue party was set to repair the dike. 

On this hill the English proceeded to erect a fortified post, whichthey called Fort Lawrence; and in an incredibly short time the red flagwas waving from its battlements, not three miles distant from Beauséjour, and an abiding provocation to the hot-headed soldiery of France. As forLe Loutre, after his disastrous repulse, he yielded to the inevitable, and gave up all thought of preventing the establishment of Fort Lawrence. But he was not discouraged; he was merely changing his tactics. 

The Missaguash being the dividing line between the two powers, hecaused his Acadian and Indian followers to enrage the English by pettydepredations, by violations of the frontier, by attacks and ambuscades. Soon the English were provoked into retaliations; whereupon the regularsof Beauséjour found an excuse for taking part, and the turbid Missaguashbecame the scene of such perpetual skirmishes that its waters ran redderthan ever. 

Even then there might have been erelong an attempt at reconciliation, to which end the efforts of Captain Howe were ceaselessly directed. ButLe Loutre made this forever impossible by an outrage so fiendish as tocall forth the execration of even his unscrupulous employers. One morningthe sentries on Fort Lawrence were somewhat surprised to see one who wasapparently an officer from the garrison of Beauséjour, with severalfollowers, approaching the banks of the Missaguash with a flag of truce. The party reached the dike, and the bearer of the flag waved it as ifdesiring to hold a parley. His followers remained behind at a respectfuldistance, standing knee-deep in the heavy aftermath of the fertile marsh. 

In prompt response to this advance Captain Howe and several companions, under a white flag, set out from Fort Lawrence to see what was wanted. When Howe reached the river he detected something in the supposedofficer's dress and language which excited his suspicions of the man'sgood faith, and he turned away as if to retrace his step's. Instantlythere flashed out a volley of musketry from behind the dike on thefurther shore, and the beloved young captain fell mortally wounded. The pretended officer was one of Le Loutre's supporters, the Micmac chief, Jean Baptiste Cope, and the fatal volley came from a band of Micmacswho had, under cover of darkness, concealed themselves behind the dike. 

The assassins kept up a sharp fire on the rest of the English party, but failed to prevent them from carrying off their dying captain to thefort. The scene had been witnessed with horror by the French forceson Beauséjour, and their officers sent to Fort Lawrence to express theirangry reprobation of the atrocious deed. They openly laid it to thecharge of Le Loutre, declaring that such a man was capable of anything;and for a few weeks Le Loutre did not care to show himself at Beauséjour. At last he came, and met the accusations of the French officers with themost solemn declaration that the whole thing had been done without hisknowledge or sanction. The Indians, he swore, had done it by reason oftheir misguided but fervent religious zeal, to take vengeance on Howefor something he was reported to have said injurious and disrespectfulto the Church. "The zeal of my flock, " said he, solemnly, "is, perhaps, something too rash, but it springs from ardent and simple natures!"

"Aye! aye!" said the old sergeant to his companions-in-arms, when heheard of the abbé's explanations, "but I happened to recognize HisReverence myself in the party that did the murder. "

There were many more on Beauséjour whose eyes had revealed to them thesame truth as that so bluntly stated by the sergeant. But the abbé wasmost useful--was, in fact, necessary, to do those deeds which no oneelse would stoop to; and, therefore, his explanation was accepted. At this time, moreover, there was a work to be done at Beauséjourrequiring the assistance of the abbé's methods. Orders had been sentfrom Quebec that a strong fort should straightway be built at Beauséjour, as an offset to Fort Lawrence. And this fort was to be built by theill-fated Acadians. 

The labor of the Acadians was supposed to be voluntary. That is, theywere invited to assist, without pay other than daily rations; and thosewho appeared reluctant were presently interviewed by the indefatigableand invaluable Le Loutre. His persuasions, with blood-thirsty Indiansin the background, invariably produced their effect. To be sure, therewas money sent from Quebec for payment of the laborers; but theauthorities of Beauséjour having Le Loutre to depend upon, foundit more satisfactory to put this money in their own pockets. 

With his customary foresight, Antoine Lecorbeau had promptly evincedhis willingness to take part in the building. Either he or Pierre wascontinually to be found upon the spot, working diligently and, withoutcomplaint--which was a disappointment to Le Loutre. The abbé had notforgotten the remark of Antoine which he had caught the day of the battleon the Missaguash. He was seeking his opportunity to punish him for therash utterance. For the present, however, there was nothing to do butcommend the prudent Acadian for his zeal. 

Upon Pierre and his father this fort building fell not heavily. They hada tight roof and a warm hearth close by. But their hearts ached to seehundreds of their fellow-countrymen toiling half-clad in the bitterweather, with no reward but their meager daily bread. These poorpeasants had many of them been the owners of happy homes, whence themerciless fiat of Le Loutre had banished them. The hill of Beauséjourlies open to the four winds of heaven, one or the other of which ispretty sure to be blowing at all seasons; and some of the dispiritedtoilers had not even rawhide moccasins to protect their feet from thebiting frost. Le Loutre was continually among them working in hisshirt sleeves, and urging everyone to his utmost exertions. But asthe winter dragged on the Acadians became so weak and heartless thateven the threats of the abbé lost their effect, and the fort grew butslowly. Upon this it became necessary to increase the rations and evento give a small weekly wage. The effect of this was magical, and inthe following spring the fortress of Beauséjour was ready for itsgarrison. Its strong earthworks overlooked the whole surroundingcountry, and in the eyes that watched it from Fort Lawrence formedno agreeable addition to the landscape. Across the tawny Missaguashand the stretches of bright green marsh the red flag and the whiteflapped each other a ceaseless defiance. 

Elated at the completion of the fort, Le Loutre concluded the timeswere ripe for a raid upon the English settlements. On the banks of theKenneticook there was a tiny settlement which had been an eyesore tothe abbé ever since its establishment some three years before. Therewere only a half dozen houses in the colony and against these Le Loutredecided to strike. In the enterprise he saw an opportunity of makingLecorbeau feel his power. He would make the careful Acadian take partin the expedition. To assume the disguise of an Indian would, he wellknew, be hateful to every instinct of the law-abiding Lecorbeau. As theabbé took his way to the Acadian's rude cabin his grim face wore asinister gleam. 

It was about sunset, and the family were at their frugal meal. All roseto their feet as the dreaded visitor entered, and the children betookthemselves in terror to the darkest corners they could find. The abbésat down by the hearth and motioned his hosts to follow his example. After a word or two of inquiry as to the welfare of the household, he remarked abruptly:

"You are a true man, Antoine--a faithful servant of the Holy Churchand of France!"

His keen eyes, as he spoke, burned upon the dark face of the Acadian. 

Lecorbeau did not flinch. He returned the piercing gaze calmly andrespectfully, saying:

"Have I not proved it, Reverend Father?"

A phantom of a smile went over the priest's thin lips, leaving hiseyes unlightened. 

"It is well! You shall have yet another chance to prove it. It is justsuch men as you whose help I want in my next venture. I have businesson hand which my faithful flock at Cobequid are not sufficient for, unaided. You and certain others whom I need not name shall join them fora little. I will bring you such dress, equipment, and so forth, as youwill need to become as one of them. Be ready to-morrow night. "

As he spoke he studied intently the face of Lecorbeau. But the sagaciousAcadian was a match for him. Lecorbeau's heart sank in his breast. He wasa prey to the most violent feeling of hatred toward his guest, and ofloathing for the task required of him. He saw in it, also, the probabilityof his own ruin, for he believed the complete triumph of the English wasat hand. Notwithstanding, his face remained perfectly untroubled, whilePierre flushed hotly, clenching his hands, and Mother Lecorbeau leta sharp cry escape her. 

"Be not a child, Jeanne!" said Lecorbeau, rebuking her with his glance. Then he answered to the demand of Le Loutre. 

"In truth, Reverend Abbé, I should like to prove my zeal in some easierway. Have I not obeyed you with all diligence and cheerfulness, norcomplained when your wisdom seemed hard to many? Surely, you will keepsuch harassing service for younger men, men who have not a family tocare for! Will you not deal a little gently with an old and obedientservant? I pray you, let young men go on such enterprises, and let meserve you at home!"

"I am too lenient to such as you, " cried the priest, in a voice grownsuddenly high and terrible. "I know you. I have long suspected you. Your heart is with the English. You shall steep your hands in the bloodof those accursed, or I will make you and yours as if you had never been!"

Antoine Lecorbeau held his countenance unmoved and bowed his head. "It shall be as you will, father, " he said, quietly. "But is this theway you reward obedience?"

The abbé's reply was interrupted by Pierre, who stepped forward withflashing eyes and almost shouted:

"Our hearts are _not_ with the English! We are the children of France!"

The abbé, strange to say, seemed not offended by this hot contradiction. The outburst rather pleased him. He thought he saw in Pierre the makingof an effective partisan. Diverted by this thought, and feeling sure ofAntoine after the threat he had uttered, he rose abruptly, blessed thehousehold, all unconscious of the irony of the act, and stepped out intothe raw evening. There was silence in the cabin for some minutes afterhis going forth. The blow had fallen, even that which Lecorbeau had mostdreaded. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE MIDNIGHT MARCH. 

The children crept forth from their corners and looked wonderingly attheir sobbing mother. 

"O, you will certainly be killed, " wailed the good woman, thoroughlyfrightened. 

"There is little danger of _that_, " rejoined Lecorbeau. "The abbé prefersto strike where there is small likelihood of a return blow. There will beas little of peril as there will be of glory in attacking a few sleepingvillagers and perhaps murdering them in their beds. The thought of suchcold-blooded butchery is terrible, but anything is better than that youand the little ones should be exposed to the rage of those savages. It may mean ruin for us, however, for the English governor at Halifaxis likely to hear of me being concerned in the raid; and, you remember, I was one of those that took the oath when I was a lad. I shall bean outlaw, that's all!"

Reassured as to the immediate physical peril of the enterprise, the goodwife dried her eyes. The scruples that troubled her husband were too remoteto give her much concern. 

"Well, if you _must_ go, " said she, "I suppose you, must! Do try andplease that hard-hearted priest; and you must put on warm clothes, foryou'll be sleeping out at night, won't you?"

"But, father!" began Pierre--and then he stopped suddenly. "I wonder ifI foddered the steers, " he went on. As he spoke he rose from the benchwhereon he was sitting, and went out to the barn. 

Pierre had been on the point of saying that _he_ was the one to go onthe raid, as he had not taken any oath of allegiance to the English. It had occurred to him, however, that his father would probably forbidhim thinking of such a thing, and he knew that in such a case he would beunable to put his plan in execution, as he had not learned in that simpleneighborhood the lesson of disobedience to parents. He saw that if he wenton the raid the requirements of Le Loutre were likely to be satisfied, while at the same time his father would be delivered from the danger ofan accusation of treason. It was quite certain in Pierre's mind that hisdesign would commend itself to the clear wisdom of his father, but hefelt that the latter would forbid it because of his mother's terrors. He decided to act at once, and he turned his steps toward the fort. Certain misgivings troubled his conscience at first, but he soon becameconvinced that he was doing right. 

While good wife Lecorbeau was wondering what kept Pierre so long at thebarn, Pierre was at the commandant's quarters talking to the abbé. Thelatter greeted the boy kindly, and asked at once what brought him. 

"I came to speak about to-morrow night, Reverend Father!" began the boy, doubtfully. 

"Well, what of it?" snarled the priest, in a harsh voice, his browdarkening. "Your father isn't trying to beg off, is he?"

"O, no, no!" Pierre hastened to reply. "He's getting ready, and he doesn'tknow I've come to see you. He'd have forbidden me had he known, so I stoleaway. But _I_ want to go instead of him. See, I'm young and strong;and I love fighting, while he loves peace; and he has pains in his joints, and would, maybe, get laid up on the march, whereas I can be of more useto the cause. Besides, _he_ can be of more use to the cause by stayinghome, which I can't be. Take me instead--!"

Pierre broke off abruptly, breathless in his eagerness. For a momenthis hopes died within him, for the abbé's face remained dark and severe. That active brain reviewed the situation rapidly, and at length approvedthe proposal of Pierre. It was obvious that Pierre, ardent and impetuous, would be more effective than Antoine in such a venture; and it occurred toLe Loutre that in taking the boy he was inflicting a sharper punishmentupon the father. 

"You are a right brave youth, " he said, presently, "and it shall be asyou ask. You shall see that I do well by those that are faithful. As forthe traitors, let them beware, for my arm is longer than they dream. I reach to Annapolis and Fort St. John and Louisburg as easily as toMinas or Memramcook. " Here the abbé paused and was turning away. Lookingback over his shoulder he added, but in a low voice:

"Come hither at dusk to-morrow. I will send a messenger to your fatherin the morning, saying that I release him from the expedition. See thatyou say nought to him, or to any living soul, of that which is tobe done!"

When Pierre returned to the cabin his mother began to question him. He answered simply that he had to go up to the fort. "What for?" inquiredhis mother persistently. But Lecorbeau interposed. 

"Pierre is as tall as his father, " he said, smiling at the youth. "Seehow broad his shoulders are. Is he not old enough, anxious mother, to beout alone after dark?"

The good woman, assenting, gazed at her son proudly. And Pierre felta pang at the thought of what his mother's grief would be on learningthat he had gone on the abbé's expedition. His heart smote him bitterlyto think he should have to leave without a word of explanation orfarewell; but he knew that if his mother should get so much as a hintof his undertaking, her fears would ruin all. He crept to his bed, butlay tossing for hours, wide-eyed in the dark, before sleep put an endto the wearying conflict of his thoughts. 

The following morning brought unexpected joy to the cabin at the footof Beauséjour. Antoine Lecorbeau could hardly believe his ears whena messenger came to tell him that the abbé, in consideration of faithfulservices already rendered, would release him from the duty requiredof him. A load rolled off the Acadian's prudent soul, though he remainedin a state of anxious perplexity. Had he known our Shakespeare he wouldhave said, in the strict privacy of his inward meditations, "I like notfair terms and a villain's mind. " But as for his good wife, she wasradiant, and reproached herself volubly for the evil thought she hadharbored against the good abbé. Pierre himself, seeing that Le Loutrewas sticking to his promise, found a good word to say for him, for thefirst time that he could remember. 

That same evening, supper being over about dusk, Pierre said he wouldgo up to the fort and see the old sergeant. As he got to the cabin doorhe turned and threw a kiss to the dear ones he was leaving. Had thelight been stronger his mother could not but have noticed his set mouthand the moisture in his eyes. He dared not trust himself to speak. 

"Bring us back what news you can of the expedition, lad!" cried Lecorbeauafter him; and it was with a mighty effort that Pierre strained his voiceto answer "All right!"

At the fort everything was very quiet. Le Loutre was at the commandant'squarters with a half dozen befeathered and bepainted braves, in eachof whom Pierre presently recognized a fellow-Acadian skillfully disguised. In fact, there was not an Indian among them. The real Indians wereawaiting their leader and spiritual father in the woods beyondFort Lawrence. 

Pierre was warmly greeted by his fellow-villagers, all of whom hadevidently worked themselves up into something like enthusiasm for theirundertaking. Of the regular French soldiery there were none about. Noteven a sentry was to be seen. The commandant was on hand, helping tocomplete the disguises of the Acadians, and he did not choose thatany of his men should be able to say they had seen him give personalcountenance to a violation of the treaty. 

The commandant was very well disposed to the family of Antoine Lecorbeau, from whom he bought farm produce at ridiculously low terms, to sell itagain in Louisburg at a profit of one or two hundred per cent. He spokegood humoredly to Pierre, and even helped him with his paint and feathers. Unscrupulous and heartless where his own interests were at stake, in smallmatters he was rather amiable than otherwise. 

"Won't your father and mother be terribly anxious about you, when youfail to put in an appearance to-night? The good abbé tells me they arenot to know of your whereabouts!" said the officer to Pierre, in a lowvoice. 

"What, sir!" cried Pierre, aghast at the thought. "Won't they be toldwhere I've gone?"

"His Reverence says not, " replied the officer. "His Reverence is veryconsiderate!"

Pierre was almost beside himself. He knew not what to do. His handsdropped to his side, and he could only look imploringly at the commandant. 

"Well, well, lad!" continued the latter, presently, "_I'll_ let themknow as soon as the expedition is safely out of this. This priest is quitetoo merciless for me. I'll explain the whole thing to your father andmother, and will assure them that there's no danger; as, indeed, is thetruth, for it is pretty safe and easy work to shoot a man when he's notmore than half awake. Now, be easy in your mind, and leave the hardwork and any little fighting there may be to those red heathens thatHis Reverence talks so much about. "

With these words, which relieved Pierre's mind, the commandant turnedaway, and left the youth to perfect his transformation into a Micmacbrave. 

It was drawing toward midnight when the abbé's imitation Micmacs, aftera hearty supper of meat, took their way from Beauséjour. They saw nosentry as they stole forth. Le Loutre was with them, and himself ledthe way. The night was raw and gusty, with rain threatening. As theydescended the hill they could hear the stream of the Missaguash brawlingover the stones of the mid-channel, for the tide was out. Across thesolitary marshes could be seen the lights of Fort Lawrence gleamingfrom their hilltop. Overhead was the weird cry of flocks of wild geesevoyaging north. The gusts made Pierre draw his blanket closer about him, and the strangeness of his surroundings, with the dreadful characterof the venture on which he was bound, filled his soul with awe. He wasdetermined, however, to produce a good impression on the dreaded abbé. He stalked on with a long, energetic stride, keeping well to the frontand maintaining a stoical silence. 

Le Loutre led the way far up the Missaguash, so giving Fort Lawrencea wide berth. Once beyond the fort he turned south, skirting the furtheredge of what had been peaceful Beaubassin. At this point he led his partyinto the woods, and for perhaps half an hour the journey was most painfuland exhausting. Pierre was running against trees and stumbling overbranches, and at the same time, in spite of his discomfort and thenovelty of the situation, growing more and more sleepy. The journeybegan to seem to him like a dismal nightmare, from which he would soonawaken to find himself in his narrow but cosy bunk at home. 

Suddenly he was startled by the half-human cry of the panther, whichsounded as if in the treetops right overhead. "Is that a signal?"inquired one of the startled travelers, while Pierre drew closer tohis nearest comrade. 

"It's a signal that Monsieur Loup Cervier wants his supper, and wouldbe quite willing to make it off a fat Acadian!" replied the abbé witha grim laugh. 

The party upon this began to talk and laugh aloud, which probably dauntedthe animal, for nothing more was heard of him. In the course of anotherten minutes a light was seen glowing through the trees, and immediatelythe abbé hooted thrice, imitating perfectly the note of the littleAcadian owl. This signal was answered from the neighborhood of the fire, whereupon the abbé gave the strange, resonant cry of the bittern. A fewmoments more and Pierre found himself by a camp fire which blazedcheerfully in the recess of a sheltered ravine. Around the fire weregathered some twoscore of Micmacs in their war dress, who merely gruntedas the abbé and his little party joined them. 

Here, wrapped in his blanket, his feet to the fire and his head on anarmful of hemlock boughs, Pierre slept as sweet a sleep as if in his bedat home. At dawn he woke with a start, just as the abbé drew near toarouse him. For a moment he was bewildered; then gathering his witshe sprang quickly to his feet, looking ready for an instant departure. Le Loutre was content and turned away. Not many minutes were consumedin breakfasting, and the raiders were under way by the time the sunwas up. 

All that day the stealthy band crept on, avoiding the trails by whichcommunication was kept up between the settlements. Early in the eveningLe Loutre called a halt, and Pierre, exhausted, fell asleep the momenthe had satisfied his hunger. Next morning the sun was high ere the partyresumed its march, and not long after midday Le Loutre declared they hadgone far enough as they were now near the settlement of Kenneticook. There was now nothing to be done but wait for night. A scout was sentforward to reconnoiter, and came back in a couple of hours with word thatall was quiet in the little village, and no danger suspected. 

About nine o'clock the abbé gave his orders. Not a soul in the villagewas to be spared, and not a house left standing. The enemy were to bedestroyed, root and branch, and the English were to receive a lesson thatwould drive them in terror within the shelter of the Halifax stockades. In a few minutes the party was on the march, and moving now with thegreatest secrecy and care. 

During that silent march, every minutest detail of which stamped itselfindelibly on Pierre's memory, the lad clung desperately to the thought ofall the injuries, real or pretended, which the English had inflicted uponhis people. He dared not let himself think of the unoffending settlerstrustfully sleeping in their homes. He strove to work himself up to somesort of martial ardor that might prevent him feeling like an assassin. Presently the rippling of the Kenneticook made itself heard on the quietnight, and then the dim outlines of the lonely and doomed hamlet roseinto view. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE SURPRISE. 

The midnight murderers were at the very doors before even a dog gavewarning. Then several curs raised a shrill alarm, and a great mastiff, chained to his kennel in the yard of the largest house, snapped his chainand sprang upon the raiders. The dog bore an Indian to the ground, andthen fell dead, with a tomahawk buried in his skull. At the same momentthe long, strident yell of the Micmacs rang through the hamlet, and ahalf dozen hatchets beat in every door. There was no time for resistance. The butchers were at the bedsides of their victims almost ere the latterwere awake. Here and there a settler found time to snatch his rifle, or a andiron, or a heavy chair, and so to make a desperate though briefdefense; and in this way three Micmacs and one Acadian were killed. The yells of the raiders were mingled with the shrieks of the victims, and almost instantly the scene of horror was lighted up by the flamesof the burning ricks. 

Pierre, with rather a vague idea of what he was going to do, had rushedto the attack among the foremost, and had plunged headlong over the bodyof the dead mastiff. In the fall he dropped his rifle, but clung to hishatchet, and in a moment he found himself in the hallway of the chiefhouse. His perception of what took place was confused. He felt himselfcarried up the stairs with a rush. A faint light was glimmering intoexistence in the large room, in the middle of which he saw a manstanding rifle in hand. There was a deafening report, and everythingwas wrapped in a cloud of smoke. Then a sudden glare filled the roomas a barn outside blazed to heaven; and the man, clubbing his rifle, sprang at his assailants. Pierre did not wait to see his fate, butdarted past him into a room beyond. 

This was plainly the children's bedroom. Pierre's eye fell on a small, yellow-haired child, who was sitting up amid her bedclothes, her roundeyes wild with terror. She shrieked at the sight of Pierre's paintedvisage, but the lad's heart went out to her with passionate pity as hethought of the little folk at home. He would save her at all hazards. He was followed into the room by three or four of the fiercest of hisparty. Pierre sprang with a yell upon the child's bed, throwing her uponher face with one hand while he buried his hatchet in the pillows whereshe had lain. In an instant the little one was hidden under a heap ofbedclothes, and too frightened to make an outcry. Somewhere in the roomthe butchers had evidently found another victim in hiding, for theirtriumphant yell was followed by a gasping groan, which smote Pierreto the heart, and filled him with an avenging fury. 

A cloud of smoke blown past the window, for a moment darkened the room. An Indian ran against Pierre and grunted, "Ugh! All gone?"

"All gone!" replied the lad, and he saw the murderers glide forth toseek their prey. But one remained, delaying to remove a victim's scalp. The room again became bright, and as the Indian passed Pierre his quickeye caught a motion in the heap of bedclothes. His eyes gleamed, and hejerked the coverings aside. Pierre thrust him back violently and angrily, just as the child sat up with a shrill cry. The savage hesitated, impressed by Pierre's uncompromising attitude, then turned with agrunt to seek satisfaction elsewhere. 

The child was apparently five or six years old, but a tiny, fairylikecreature. 

"Sh-sh-sh!" said Pierre, soothingly, taking it for granted that shewould not understand French. The child comprehended the sign, andstopped her cries, realizing that the strange and dreadful-lookingbeing was her protector. Pierre, knowing that the house would soon bein flames, made haste to wrap the child in a thick blanket. He sawthat beneath the window there was a shed with a sloping roof, by whichhe could easily reach the ground. He waited a few moments, with thechild in his arms, covered as much as possible by his blanket, and soheld as to look like a roll of booty. When the smoke once more blew ina stifling volume past the window, Pierre stepped out upon the roof withhis precious burden, dropped to the ground, and made haste away in thedirection of the least glare and tumult. 

As he was stealing past a small cottage just burst into blaze, two of theraiders stepped in front of him. Pierre's heart sank, but he grasped hishatchet, and a sort of hunted but deadly look gleamed in his eyes. The mendidn't offer to stop him, but one cried:

"What have you there?"

As he spoke Pierre recognized them for two of the Acadians, and his fearsceased. 

"It's a child I'm saving, " he whispered. "Don't say anything about it. "

"Good boy!" chuckled the singular marauders; and Pierre hastened on, making for a wood near by. 

Ere he could reach that shelter, however, Fate once more confronted himin the shape of a tall Micmac, whom Pierre recognized as one of thesubchiefs of the tribe, a nephew of Cope. The chief, supposing Pierre wascarrying off something very rich in the way of booty, stopped him anddemanded a share. Pierre protested, declaring it was all his. Whenhe spoke the savage recognized him, and having a lofty contempt for onewho was both an Acadian and a mere boy, coolly attempted to snatch thebundle from his arms. 

Pierre's eyes blazed, as he grasped the Indian's wrist and wrenched thecruel grip loose. He looked the savage straight in the eye. 

"That's _mine!_" said he steadily. "Keep your hands off!"

The Indian snatched again at the bundle, this time ineffectually; andthen he drew his knife as if to attack Pierre. The latter jumped back, laid his burden on the ground, and stood before it, hatchet in hand. Seeing he was not to be intimidated, and willing to avoid a hand-to-handstruggle with one who seemed so ready for it, the savage withdrewgrumbling, at the same time resolving that he would force Pierre lateron to divide his booty. As soon as he was gone Pierre snatched up hischarge and sped away exultant. 

The boy's design was to follow the Kenneticook to its mouth, and thenceto ascend the Piziquid to the Acadian settlement, which he knew stoodsomewhere on its banks. He did not dare to try and find his way back toBeauséjour. He knew that if he followed the trail of his party he wouldbe captured and the child killed; and we was equally certain that if hedeserted the trail he should be lost inevitably. Once at Piziquid, however, he counted on getting a fisherman to take him to Beauséjourby water. 

After toiling through the woods for perhaps an hour, keeping ever withinhearing of the stream, Pierre set his burden on the ground and threwhimself down beside her to snatch a moment's rest. The little one wasin her bare feet, so it was impossible for her to walk in that roughand difficult region. Indeed, she had nothing on but a woolen nightdress, and Pierre had to keep her well wrapped up in the blanket he had broughtfrom her bed. The little one had been contentedly sleeping in herdeliverer's arms, all unconscious of the awful fate that had befallenthose whom Pierre supposed to be her people. She remained asleep whilePierre was resting, nor woke till it was clear dawn. 

Long ere this Pierre had found easier traveling, having come out upona series of natural meadows skirting the stream. Beyond these meadowswere wide flats, covered at high tide, and Pierre, with an Acadian'sinstinct, thought how fine it would be to dike them in. He had littlefear now of being followed. His party would take it for granted, notfinding him or his body, that he had fallen in the attack and beenburnt in the conflagration. He felt that they would not greatly troublethemselves. As for those four who had seen him with his prize, two atleast would not tell on him and he had strong hopes that the two Micmacswhom he had encountered would forget his prize in the confusion of thehour. Beside a rivulet, in the gray of dawn, he stopped to wash himself;that his appearance might not frighten the child on her awaking. 

When the little one opened her eyes she looked about her in astonishment, which became delight as she saw the glittering brook close beside herand the many-colored sky overhead. She crept out of her blanket and stoodwith her little white feet shining in the short spring grass. Then shestepped into the brook, but finding it too cold for her she came out againat once. Then she stood shivering till Pierre, after drying her feet onhis blanket, once more wrapped her up and seated her on a fallen treebeside him. The child kept up a continual prattle, of which, of course, Pierre understood not a word. He could only smile and stroke the littlefair head. When he spoke to her in his own language the child gazed athim in wide-eyed wonder, and at last laughed gleefully and began to pathis face, talking a lot of baby gibberish, such as she imagined Pierrewas addressing to her. 

By and by Pierre remembered he was hungry. Taking some barley breadand dried meat out of the bag he carried at his waist, he offered thechoicest bits to his tiny companion, and the two made a good breakfast. Out of a strip of birchbark the lad twisted a cup and gave the childto drink. Then, lifting her to his shoulder, he resumed his journey. 

As the sun rose and the day grew warm Pierre let the child walk by hisside; but the tender little feet were not used to such work, and almostimmediately she cried to be taken up again. On this Pierre improvisedher a clumsy pair of moccasins, made of strips of his blanket. 

These the little one regarded at first with lofty contempt, but when shefound they enabled her to run by her protector's side she was delighted. It was necessary to stop often and rest long, so our travelers made slowprogress; but at noon, climbing a bluff which overlooked the river formiles in either direction, Pierre was delighted to find himself withintwo or three miles of the mouth. He marked, moreover, a short cut bywhich, taking advantage of the curve in the main river, he could cutoff five or six miles and strike the banks of the Piziquid withoutdifficulty or risk. 

"By this time to-morrow, if all goes well, we'll be safe in Piziquid, chérie!" he cried joyously to the child, who responded with a mirthfulstream of babble. Pierre's conversation she regarded as a huge andperpetual joke. 

That night Pierre built a rough lean-to under the shelter of a greatwhite plaster-rock, and there in a heap of fragrant branches, the childwrapped closely in the lad's arms, the lonely pair slept warm and secure. The next day was mild and our travelers found their path easy. Ere noonthey arrived within sight of Piziquid. 

They were on a hill with the Acadian village stretched out before themfar below, but a broad river rolling between them and their destination. Pierre had forgotten about the St. Croix, but he recognized it now fromdescription. He saw, to his disappointment, that he would have to makea long detour to pass this obstacle, so he sat down on the hill to restand refresh his little companion. The little one was now so tired thatshe fell instantly to sleep, and Pierre thought it wise to let her sleepa good half hour. Even he himself appreciated well the delay; and the viewthat unrolled beneath him was magnificent. 

Right ahead, in the corner of land between the Piziquid River and theSt. Croix, rose a rounded hill crowned with the English post of FortEdward. Beyond to right and left expanded plains of vivid emerald, witha line of undulating uplands running back from Fort Edward and dividingthe marshes of the St. Croix from those of the Piziquid. The scene wasone of plenty and content. Pierre concluded that it would be necessaryfor him to avoid being seen by the garrison of the fort, lest he shouldbe suspected of being one of the raiders. He decided to seek one of theoutermost houses of the settlement about nightfall and there to tell hisstory, relying upon the good faith of one Acadian toward another. Thechild, he made up his mind must stay in his care and go with him toBeauséjour. Having risked and suffered so much for her, he already beganto regard her with jealous devotion and to imagine she was indeed his own. 

The child woke as joyous as a bird. Hand in hand the quaint-lookingpair--a seeming Indian with a little white-skinned child in a flannelnightgown--trudged patiently up the stream, till in the middle of theafternoon they came to a spot where Pierre thought it safe to wade across. By this time the little one's feet were so sore that she had to be carriedall the time; and it was well after sunset when Pierre set his armfuldown at the door of an outlying cottage of Piziquid, well away fromthe surveillance of the fort. 

In answer to Pierre's knock there came a woman to the door, who startedback in alarm. With a laughing salutation, however, Pierre followed herinto the blaze of firelight which poured from the heaped-up hearth. In spite of his disguise he was at once recognized by the man of thehouse as an Acadian, and the wanderers found an instant and heartywelcome. Over a hot supper (in the midst of which the tired childfell asleep with her head in her plate, and was carried to bed bythe motherly good wife) Pierre told all his story. 

"We shall have to keep you hidden till we get you away!" said thevillager, one Jean Breboeuf by name. "You see, their eyes are open atthe fort. They got word at Halifax, somehow, that our precious abbé(whom may the saints confound!) was planning some deviltry, and messageswere sent to the different posts to guard the outlying settlements. It's a wonder you didn't find English soldiers at Kenneticook, for acompany started thither. However, if the English catch you in this dressthey won't take long deciding what to do with you. "

Pierre was greatly alarmed. 

"Can't you give me something to wear?" he cried. 

"O, yes!" answered the host, "we'll fix you all right in the morningso nobody will ever suspect you. Then I'll get Marin--he's got a goodboat--to start right off and sail you round to Beauséjour. But whatabout the little one?"

"O, she goes wherever I go!" said Pierre, decidedly. 

"Yes, yes! But she's got to be kept out of sight, " replied Breboeuf"She looks English, every inch of her; and if the people at the fortget eyes on her there'll be an investigation sure!"

"Can you speak English?" queried Pierre. 

"Well enough!" replied his host. 

"There'll be no trouble then, " continued Pierre. "You can tell her tokeep quiet and keep covered up when we're taking her to the boat. She'll mind, I'll answer you. And then, if Madame Breboeuf can giveher a little homespun frock and cap, we'll pass her off all rightshould anyone see her. And when we get to Beauséjour my father willmake it all right for the clothes. "

"He won't do anything of the sort, " answered both Breboeuf and his wifein one breath. "We all know Antoine Lecorbeau, and we're proud to dohis son a service. If we poor Acadians did not help each other, I'dlike to know who'd help us, anyway!"

It was with a light heart that Pierre slept that night, and joyfullyin the morning he put away the last trace of his hated disguise. His little charge showed plainly that she considered the changean improvement. The child told Breboeuf (whom she understood withdifficulty) that her name was Edie Howe. At this Breboeuf was surprised, for, as he said to Pierre, there were no Howes at Kenneticook. Whenthe Acadian tried to question Edie more closely, her answers becameirrelevant, which was probably due to the deficiencies of MonsieurBreboeuf's English. 

Pierre kept indoors most of the morning, as the little one would notlet him out of her sight, and he dared not be seen with her. Soon afternoon the tide was all ready for a departure, and not behindhand wasthe fisherman, Marin, with his stanch Minas craft. Marin had broughthis boat up the St. Croix and into a little creek at some distancefrom the fort, because at the regular landing place there were alwayssome English soldiers strolling about for lack of anything better to do. It was with some trepidation that Pierre set out for the creek. Thelittle girl walked between her dear protector and their host, holdinga hand of each, and chattering about everything she saw, till withgreat effort Breboeuf got her to understand that if she didn't keepquite quiet, and not say a word to anybody till they got safely away, in the boat, something dreadful might happen to her Pierre. She wasdressed like any of the little Acadian maidens of Piziquid, and herblue cap of quilted linen was so tied on as to hide her sunny hairand much of her face; but the danger was that she might betray herselfby her speech. 

Before the party reached the boat they had a narrow escape from detection. They were met by three or four soldiers who were strolling across themarsh. In passing they gave Breboeuf a hearty good-day in English, andone of them called Edie his "little sweetheart. " The child looked up witha laugh, and cried, coquettishly, "Not yours! I'm Pierre's. " Then, asBreboeuf squeezed her hand sharply, she remembered his caution and saidno more, though her small heart was filled with wonder to think she mightnot talk to the nice soldiers. 

"Why, where did the baby learn her English?" asked the soldier in a toneof surprise. "_You_ never taught her, I'll be bound. "

"Her mother taught her. Her mother speaks the English better than youyourself, " was Breboeuf's ready reply. Later in the day that soldiersuddenly remembered that the good wife Breboeuf did not speak a wordof English, and he was properly mystified. By that time, however, Pierreand the little one were far from Piziquid. With a merry breeze behind themthey were racing under the beetling front of Blomidon. 

On the day following they caught the flood tide up Chignecto Bay, andsailed into the mouth of the Au Lac stream, almost under the willowsof Lecorbeau's cottage. The joy of Pierre's father and mother on seeingthe lad so soon returned was mingled with astonishment at seeing himarrive by water, and with a little English child in his care. The littleone, with her exciting experiences behind her, did not dream of being shy, but was made happy at once with a kind welcome; while Pierre, the centerof a wondering and exclaiming circle, narrated the wild adventures ofthe past few days, which had, indeed developed him all at once fromboyhood to manhood. As he described the massacre, and the manner inwhich he had rescued the yellow-haired lassie, his mother drew thelittle one into her arms and cried over her from sympathy and excitement;and the child wiped her eyes with her own quilted sunbonnet. At theconclusion of the vivid narrative Lecorbeau was the first to speak. 

"Nobly have you done, my dear son, " he cried, with warm emotion. "But now, where are your companions of that dreadful expedition?Not one has yet arrived at Beauséjour!"

CHAPTER VII. 

PIERRE'S LITTLE ONE. 

This question which Lecorbeau asked, all Beauséjour was asking in anhour or two. That night an Indian, sent from Le Loutre, who was lyingin exhaustion at Cobequid, arrived at the fort and told the fate ofthe expedition. 

As already stated, the English authorities in Halifax had been warnedof the movements of the Indians--though they could only guess the partthat Le Loutre had in them. Without delay they had sent small bandsof troops to each of the exposed settlements, but that dispatchedto Kenneticook arrived, as we have seen, too late. When the breathlesssoldiers, lighted through the woods by the glare of the burning village, reached the scene of ruin, of all who had that night lain down tofearless sleep in Kenneticook there remained alive but one, the littlechild whom Pierre had snatched from death. 

When the English emerged from the woods and saw the extent of thedisaster, they knew they were too late. Not a house, not a buildingof any kind, but was already wrapped in a roaring torrent of flame, and against the broad illumination could be seen the figures of thesavages, fantastically dancing. The English captain formed his linewith prudent deliberation, and then led the attack at a run. 

Never dreaming of so rude an interruption, the raiders were takenutterly by surprise and made no effective resistance. A number fellat the first volley, which the English poured in upon them in charging. Then followed a hand-to-hand fight, fierce but brief, which Le Loutredidn't see, as he had wisely retired on the instant of the Englishmen'sarrival. He was followed by two of the Acadians, and two or threeof the more prudent of the Micmacs; but the rest of his party, firedwith blind fury by the liquor which they had found among the villagestores, remained to fight with a drunken recklessness and fell to a manbeneath the steel of the avengers. 

Left masters of the field, the rescue party gazed with horror on theruin they had come too late to avert. With a grim, poetic justice theycast the bodies of their slain foes into the fires which had alreadyconsumed the victims of their ferocity. While this was going on theleader of the party, a young lieutenant, stood apart in deepest dejection. 

"What's the matter with the general?" inquired a soldier, pointingwith his thumb in the direction of his sorrowing chief. 

"I'm afeard as how that little niece of his'n, as you've seed hima-danderin' many a time in Halifax, was visitin' folks here. If so bewhat I've hearn be true, them yellin' butchers has done for her, surepop. I tell ye, Bill, she was a little beauty, an' darter of the cap'nthey murdered last September down to Fort Lawrence. "

"I ricklecs the child well" replied Bill, shaking his head slowly. "It _was_ a purty one, an' _no_ mistake! An' Cap'n Howe's darter, too. I swan!"

In a little while the careless-hearted soldiers were asleep amid theashes of Kenneticook village, while the young lieutenant lay awake, his heart aching for his golden-haired pet, his widowed sister's child. The next day he gave his men a long rest, for they had done some severeforced marching. When at length he reached Piziquid he little dreamedthat the child whose death he mourned was at that very moment sailingdown the river bound for Beauséjour and a long sojourn among herpeople's enemies. 

In the house of Antoine Lecorbeau things went on more pleasantly thanwith most of his fellow-Acadians. With the good will of Vergor, thecommandant of Beauséjour, who made enormous profits out of the Acadian'stireless diligence, Lecorbeau became once more fairly prosperous; andLe Loutre had grown again friendly. But most of the Acadians foundthemselves in a truly pitiable plight. There were not lands enough tosupply them all, and they pined for the farms of Acadie which Le Loutrehad forced them to forsake. Threatened with excommunication and thescalping knife if they should return to their allegiance, and withstarvation if they obeyed the commands of their heartless superiorsat Quebec, they were girt about on all sides with pain and peril. Vacillating, unable to think boldly for themselves, they were doubtlessmuch to blame, but their miseries were infinitely more than they deserved. The punishments that fell upon them fell upon the wrong shoulders. The English, who treated them for a long time with the most patientforbearance, were compelled at length, in self-defense, to adopt anattitude of rigorous severity; and by the French, in whose cause theysuffered everything, they were regarded as mere tools, to be usedtill destroyed. At the door of the corrupt officials of France may belaid all their miseries. 

After the affair at Kenneticook Le Loutre found that Cobequid was nolonger the place for him. He needed the shelter of Beauséjour. There, by force of his fanatic zeal, his ability, and his power over theAcadians, he divided the authority of the fort with its corruptcommandant. He never dreamed of the part Pierre had played that dreadfulnight on the Kenneticook. He knew Lecorbeau had somewhere picked upan English child. But a child was in his eyes quite too triviala matter to call for any comment. 

As time went on Pierre's little one, as she was generally called--"lap'tite de Pierre"--picked up the French of her new Acadian home, andwent far to forgetting her English. In the eyes of Lecorbeau and hiswife she came to seem like one of their own and she was a favorite withthe whole family; but to Pierre she clung as if he were her father andmother in one. As soon as she had learned a little French she wasquestioned minutely as to her parents and her home. Her name, Edie Howe, had at once been associated with that of the lamented captain. 

"Edie, " good wife Lecorbeau would say to her, "where is your mother?"

At this the child would shake her head sorrowfully for a moment, andpointing over the hills, would answer:

"Away off there!"--and sometimes she would add, "Poor mamma's sick!"

At last one day she seemed suddenly to remember, and cried as if shewere announcing a great discovery, "Why, mamma's in Halifax. "

Mother Lecorbeau was not a little triumphant at having elicited thisdefinite information. 

On the subject of her father the little one had not much to say. Whenquestioned about him she merely said that she was his little girl, andthat he had gone away somewhere, and some bad people wouldn't let himcome back again. She said her mamma had cried a great deal while tellingher that papa would never come back--and from this it was clear at oncethat the father was dead. To get any definite idea from the child as tothe time of his death proved a vain endeavor; she was not very clearin her ideas of time. But she said he was a tall man and a soldier. She further declared that he hadn't a lot of hair on his face, likefather Lecorbeau, but was nice and smooth, like her Pierre, only witha mustache. All this tallied with a description of Captain Howe, soLecorbeau concluded that she was Howe's child. As for the people withwhom she had been visiting in the hapless village of Kenneticook, theywere evidently old servants of her father's family. 

"I was staying at nurse's, " she used to say. "Uncle Willie sent methere because my mamma was sick. " Of this Uncle Willie she talkedso much and so often that Pierre said he was jealous. 

While several years rolled by, bringing no great event to the cabinin the willows at the foot of Beauséjour, a cloud was slowly gatheringover the fortressed hill. The relations between France and Englandin Acadie were growing more and more strained. It was plain that arupture must soon come. In the cabin, by the light of fire or candle, after the day's work was done, Pierre and his father, with sometimesthe old sergeant from the fort, used to talk over the condition ofaffairs. To Pierre and the sergeant it was obvious that France must winback Acadie, and that soon; and they paid little heed to Lecorbeau'ssagacious comparisons between the French and English methods ofconducting the government. Lecorbeau, naturally did not feel likearguing his points with much determination; but across the well-scrubbeddeal table he uttered several predictions which Pierre recalled whenhe saw them brought to pass. 

"Here's about how it stands, " remarked the sergeant one night, shakingthe ashes of his pipe into the hollow of his hand, "there's hundredsupon hundreds now of your Acadians shifting round loose, waiting for achance to get back to their old farms. They don't dare go back while theEnglish hold possession, for fear of His Reverence yonder"--signifying, of course, Le Loutre--"so they're all ready to fight just as soon asFrance gives the word. They don't care much for France, maybe--notmuch more than for the English--but they do just hanker after theirold farms. When the government thinks it the right time, and sends ussome troops from Quebec and Louisburg, all the Acadians out of Acadiewill walk in to take possession, and the Acadians in Acadie will bidgood day to King George and help us kick the English out of Halifax. It's bound to come, sure as fate; and pretty soon, I'm thinking. "

"I believe you're right!" assented Pierre, enthusiastically. 

"What would you think, now, " said Lecorbeau, suggestively, "if theEnglish should take it into their slow heads not to wait for all thisto happen? What would you do up there in the fort if some ships wereto sail up to-morrow and land a little English army under Beauséjour?You've got a priest and a greedy old woman (begging Monsieur Vergor'spardon) to lead you. How long would Beauséjour hold out? And supposeBeauséjour was taken, where would the settlements be--Ouestkawk andMemramcook, and even the fort on the St. John? Wouldn't it ratherknock on the head this rising of the Acadians, this 'walking in andtaking possession' of which you feel so confident?"

"But we won't give the English a chance!" cried the warlike pair, in almost the same breath. "We'll strike first. You'll see!"

Meanwhile the English were making ready to do just what Lecorbeau saidthey might do. At the same time the French at Quebec, at Louisburg, at Beauséjour, though talking briskly about the great stroke by whichAcadie was to be recaptured, were too busy plundering the treasuryto take any immediate steps. Following the distinguished example of thenotorious intendant, Bigot, almost every official in New France hadhis fingers in the public purse. They were in no haste for the fray. 

The English, however, seeing what the French _might_ do, naturallysupposed they would try and do it. To prevent this, they were planningthe capture of Beauséjour. Governor Lawrence, in Halifax, and GovernorShirley, in Boston, were preparing to join forces for the undertaking. In New England Shirley raised a regiment of two thousand volunteerswho mustered, in April of the year 1755, amid the quaint streets ofBoston. This regiment was divided into two battalions, one of whichwas commanded by Colonel John Winslow, and the other by John Scott. After a month's delay, waiting for muskets, the little army set sailfor Beauséjour. The chief command was in the hands of Colonel Moncton, who had been sent to Boston by Lawrence to arrange the expedition. 

On the night when Lecorbeau, Pierre, and the old sergeant were holdingthe conversation of which I have recorded a fragment, the fleet containingthe Massachusetts volunteers were already at Annapolis. A day or twolater they were sailing up the restless tide of Fundy. On the first dayof June they were sighted from the cloud-topped mountain of Chepody, or "_Chapeau Dieu_. " As the sun went down the fleet cast anchor underthe high bluffs of Far Ouestkawk, not three leagues from Beauséjour. As the next dawn was breaking over the Minudie hills there arrivedat the fort a little party of wearied Acadians, who had hastened upfrom Chepody to give warning. Instantly all Beauséjour became a sceneof excitement. There was much to be done in the way of strengtheningthe earthworks. Urgent messengers were sent out to implore reinforcementsfrom Louisburg, while others called together all the Acadians of theneighborhood, to the number of fourteen hundred fighting men. As Pierreand his father were taking the rest of the family, with some supplies, to a little wooded semi-island beside the Tantramar, some miles fromthe fort, Lecorbeau said to his son:

"I rather like the idea of that bold stroke of yours and the sergeant's!When do you think it will be carried out?"

Pierre looked somewhat crestfallen, but he mustered up spirit to reply:

"Just wait till we've beaten off those fellows. Then you'll see whatwe'll do. "

"Well, " said his father, "I'll wait as patiently as possible!"

After placing the mother and children in their refuge, which was alreadythronged, our two Acadians, with a tearful farewell, hastened backto take their part in the defense of Beauséjour. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE NEW ENGLANDERS. 

The refuge of good wife Lecorbeau, and the children, and "Pierre's littleone" was a wooded bit of rising ground which, before the diking-in ofthe Tantramar marshes, had been an island at high water. It was stillcalled Isle au Tantramar. Among the trees, under rude lean-to tents andimprovised shelters of all sorts, were gathered the women and childrenof Beauséjour, out of range of the cannon balls that they knew wouldsoon be flying over their homes. The weather was balmy, and theirsituation not immediately painful, but their hearts were a prey tothe wildest anxieties. 

By this time the New Englanders had landed over against Fort Lawrence, and had joined their forces with those of the English at the fort. The numbers of the attacking army filled the Acadians with apprehensionof defeat. Many of them, like Lecorbeau, had in the past taken oathof allegiance to King George, and these feared lest, in the probableevent of the English being victorious, they should be put to deathas traitors. This difficulty was solved, and their fears much mitigated, in a thoroughly novel way. The commandant assured them solemnly that ifthey refused to join in the defense of the fort he would shoot them downlike dogs. Upon this the Acadians conceived themselves released fromall responsibility in the matter, and went quite cheerfully to work. Even Lecorbeau feeling himself secured by Vergor's menace, was quietlyand fearlessly interested in the approaching struggle. Lecorbeau, wasno faint-heart, though his far-seeing sagacity often made him appear soin the eyes of those who did not know him well. As for Pierre, he wasnow in his element, sniffing the battle like a young warhorse, andforgetful of the odds against him. Le Loutre was everywhere at once, tireless, seeing everything, spurring the work, and worth a hundredVergors in such a crisis as this. 

Beauséjour was a strong post, a pentagon with heavy ramparts of earth, with two bombproofs, so called, and mounting twenty-five piecesof artillery. Some of the guns were heavy metal for those days andthat remote defense. I have seen them used as gateposts by the morearistocratic of Beauséjour's present inhabitants. Within the fort wasa garrison of one hundred and sixty regulars. Three hundred Acadianswere added to this garrison--among them being Pierre and his father. The rest of the Acadians spread themselves in bands through the woodsand uplands, in order to carry on a system of harassing attacks. 

Across the Missaguash, some distance from its mouth, there was a bridgecalled Pont-â-Buot, and thither, after a day or two of reconnoitering, Colonel Moncton led his forces from Fort Lawrence. They marched in longcolumn up the Missaguash shore, wading through the rich young grasses. As they approached they saw that the bridge had been broken down, andthe fragments used to build a breastwork on the opposite shore. Thisbreastwork, as far as they could see, was unoccupied. 

Appearances in this case were deceptive. Hidden behind the breastworkwas a body of troops from Beauséjour. There were nearly four hundredof them--Acadians and Indians, with a few regulars to give themsteadiness. Pierre, as might have been expected, was among the band, beside his instructor, the old sergeant. Trembling with excitement, though outwardly calm enough, Pierre watched, through the chinks ofthe breastwork, the approach of the hostile column. Just as it reachedthe point opposite, where the bridge had been broken away, he hearda sharp command from an officer just behind him. Instantly, he hardlyknew how, he found himself on his feet, yelling fiercely, and firingas fast as he could reload his musket. Through the rifts of the smokehe could see that the hot fire was doing execution in the English ranks. Presently, he heard the old sergeant remark:

"There come the guns! Now look out for a squall!"--and he saw twofieldpieces being hurriedly dragged into position. The next thinghe knew there was a roar--the breastwork on one side of him flewinto fragments, and he saw a score of his comrades dead about him. The roar was repeated several times, but his blood was up, and hewent on loading and firing as before, without a thought of fear. At length the sergeant grabbed him by the arm. 

"We've got to skip out of this and cut for cover in those bushesyonder. We'll do more good there, and this breastwork, or what'sleft of it, is no longer worth holding. "

Pierre looked about him astonished, and found they were almost alone. He shouldered his musket and strode sullenly into cover, the oldsergeant laughingly slapping him on the back. 

Firing irregularly from the woods, the French succeeded in making itvery unpleasant for the English in their work of laying a new bridge. But, notwithstanding, the bridge grew before their eyes. Pierre wasdisgusted. 

"We're beaten, it seems, already, " he cried to the sergeant. 

"Not at all!" responded the latter, cheerfully. "All this small forcecould be expected to do has been already done. We have suffered butslightly, while we have caused the enemy considerable loss. That's allwe set out to do. We're not strong enough to stand up to them; we'reonly trying to weaken them all we can. See, now they're crossing--andit's about time we were out of this!"

It was indeed so. The bridge was laid, the column was hastening across. A bugle rang out the signal for retreat, and the fire from the bushesceased. In a moment the Acadian force had dissolved, scattering likea cloud of mist before the sun. Pierre found himself, with a handfulof his comrades, speeding back to the fort. Others sought their properrendezvous. There was nothing for the English to chase, so they kepttheir column unbroken. As Pierre entered the fort he saw the enemyestablishing themselves in the uplands, about a mile and a halffrom Beauséjour. 

When night fell the heavens were lit up with a glare that carried terrorto the women and children on Isle au Tantramar. Vergor had set fireto the chapel, and to all the houses of Beauséjour that might shelteran approach to the ramparts. "Alas, " cried the unhappy mother Lecorbeauto the children about her, "we are once more homeless, without a roofto shelter us!" and she and all the women broke into loud lamentations. The children, however, seemed rather to enjoy the scene, and Edie toldan interested audience about the great blaze there was, and how red thesky looked, the night her dear Pierre carried her away from Kenneticook. 

For several days the English made no further advance, and to Pierreand his fellow-Acadians in the fort the suspense became very trying. The regulars took the delay most philosophically, seeming contentto wait just as long as the enemy would permit them. Pierre beganto wish he was with one of the guerilla parties outside, for thesewere busy all the time, making little raids, cutting off foragingparties, skirmishing with pickets, and retreating nimbly to the hillswhenever attacked in force. At length there came a change. A battalionof New Englanders, about five hundred strong, advanced to within easyrange of the fort, and occupied a stony ridge well adapted for theirpurpose. 

A braggart among the French officers, one Vannes by name, beggedto be allowed to sally forth with a couple of hundred men and routthe audacious provincials. Vergor sanctioned the enterprise, and theboaster marched proudly forth with his company. Arriving in front ofthe New Englanders he astounded the latter, and supplied his comradesin the fort with food for endless mirth, by facing the right aboutand leading his shame-faced files quietly back to Beauséjour. Pierrewas profoundly thankful to the old sergeant for having dissuaded himfrom joining in the sally. Covering Vannes's humiliation the fortopened a determined fire, which after a time disabled one of the smallmortars which the assailants had placed in position. Gradually theEnglish brought up the rest of their guns, and on the following daya sharp artillery duel was carried on between the fort and the ridge. 

Within the ramparts things went but ill, and Pierre became despondentas his eyes were opened to the almost universal corruption about him. Enlightened by the shrewd comments of the old sergeant, the quietpenetration of his father's glance, which saw everything, he soonrealized that fraud and self-seeking were become the ruling impulsein Beauséjour. "Like master, like man" was a proverb which he sawdaily fulfilled. Vergor thought more of robbing than of serving hiscountry, and from him his subordinates took their cue. Le Loutre, with his fiery fanaticism, went up, by contrast, in the estimationof the honest-hearted boy. As the siege dragged on some of the Acadiansbecame homesick, or anxious about their families. These begged leaveto go home; which was of course refused. Others quietly went withoutasking. An air of hopelessness stole over the garrison, which wasdeepened to despair when news came from Louisburg that no help couldbe expected from that quarter, the town being strictly blockaded bythe English. 

At length, in an ignoble way, came the crisis. In one of the two vaultedchambers of masonry which were dignified with the title of "bombproofs, "a party of French officers, with a captive English lieutenant, weresitting at breakfast. A shell from the English mortars dropped throughthe ceiling, exploded, and killed seven of the company. Vergor, withother officers and Le Loutre, was in the second bombproof. His martialspirit was confounded at the thought that the one retreat might turnout to be no more "bomb-proof" than the other. Most of his subordinateofficers shared his feelings, and in a few minutes, to the pleasantastonishment of the English, and in spite of the furious protestsof Le Loutre and of two or three officers who were not lost to allsense of manhood, a white flag was hoisted on Beauséjour. The firingstraightway ceased, on both sides, and an officer was sent forth tonegotiate a capitulation. 

Pierre threw down his musket, and looked at his father, who stoodwatching the proceedings with a smile of grim contempt. Then he turnedto the sergeant, who was smoking philosophically. 

"Is _this_ the best France can do?" he cried, in a sharp voice. 

"The English do certainly show to rather the better advantage, "interposed Lecorbeau; but the old sergeant hastened to answer, in atone of sober grief:

"You must'nt judge _la belle France_ by the men she has been sendingout to Canada and Acadie these late years, my Pierre. These are thecreatures of Bigot, the notorious. It is he and they that are draggingour honor in the dust!"

"Well, " exclaimed Pierre, "I shall stay and see this thing through;but as there is no more fighting to be done, you, father, had better goand take care of mother and the children. There is nothing to be gained, but a good deal to be risked by staying here and being taken prisoner. The English may not think much of the powers of compulsion of a manthat can't fight any better than our commandant"

"You're right, my boy, " said Lecorbeau, cheerfully. "My situationjust now is a delicate one, to say the least of it. Well, good-byefor the present. By this time to-morrow, if all goes as expeditiouslyas it has hitherto, we shall meet in our own cabin again. "

With these words Lecorbeau walked coolly forth, on the side of the fortopposite to the besiegers, and strolled across the marshes towardIsle au Tantramar. Two or three more, who were in the same awkwardposition as Lecorbeau, proceeded to follow his example. The rest, considering that for them there was now no danger, the fighting beingdone, stayed to see the end, and to pick up what they could in the wayof spoils. As for Le Loutre, realizing that his cause was lost and hisneck in the utmost jeopardy, he hid himself in a skillful disguise andfled in haste for Quebec. 

The same evening, at seven o'clock, the garrison marched out of Beauséjourwith the honors of war; whereupon a body of New Englanders marched in, hoisted the flag of England, and fired a royal salute from the rampartsof the fort. By the terms of the capitulation the garrison was to be sentat once to Louisburg, and those Acadians who in taking part in the defensehad violated their oath of allegiance to King George were to be pardonedas having done it under compulsion. All such matters of detail having beenarranged satisfactorily, Vergor gave a grand dinner to the English andFrench officers in the stronghold of which his cowardice had robbed hiscountry. The fort was rechristened "Fort Cumberland, " and the curiouslyassorted guests all joined most cordially in drinking to the new title. 

On the following day Lecorbeau brought his wife and family back tothe cottage under the willows, and Pierre was reunited to his beloved"petite. " Isle au Tantramar was soon deserted, for the families whosehomes at Beauséjour had just been burnt returned to camp amid the ashesand erected rude temporary shelters. They were all overjoyed at theleniency of the English; but a blow more terrible than any that hadyet befallen them was hanging over this most unhappy people. 

Among the English officers encamped at Beauséjour was the slim younglieutenant who had led the band of avengers at Kenneticook. He spokeFrench; he was interested in the Acadian people; and he moved aboutamong them inquiring into their minds and troubles. The cabin underthe willows, almost the only house left standing in Beauséjour village, at once attracted him, and he sauntered down the hill to visit it. 

The household was in a bustle getting things once more to rights;and a group of children played chattering about the low, red, ocher-washeddoor. As the lieutenant approached, Lecorbeau came forth to meet and greethim. The Englishman was just on the point of grasping the Acadian'soutstretched hand, when a shrill cry of "Uncle Willie" rang in his ears, and he found one of the children clinging to him rapturously. For aninstant he was utterly bewildered, gazing down on the sunburned fairlittle face upturned to his. Then he snatched the child to his heart, exclaiming passionately, "My Edie, my darling!" To Lecorbeau, and tohis wife and Pierre, who now appeared, the scene was clear in an instant;and a weight of misery rolled down upon the heart of Pierre as herealized that now he should lose the little one he loved so well. 

For a few moments the child and her new-found uncle were entirelyabsorbed in each other. But presently the little one looked aroundand pointed to Pierre. 

"Here's my Pierre!" she explained in her quaint French--"and there'spapa Lecorbeau, and mamma Lecorbeau, and there's little Jacques, and Bibi, and Vergie, and Tiste. Won't you come and live with us, too?"

Her uncle covered her face anew with his kisses. "My darling, " he said, "you will come with me to Halifax, to mamma!"

"And leave Pierre?" she cried, her eyes filling. "I can't leave myPierre, who saved me from the cruel Indians. "

This recalled the young man's thoughts to the mystery of the littleone's presence at Beauséjour. Lecorbeau gave him a bench, and sittingdown beside him told the story, while Edie sat with one hand in heruncle's clasp and the other in that of Pierre. The young Englishmanwas deeply moved. Having heard all, and questioned of the matterminutely, he rose and shook Pierre by the hand, thanking him in fewwords, indeed, but in a voice that spoke his emotion. Then he pouredout his gratitude to Lecorbeau and his wife for their goodness, to thischild of their foes; and little by little he gathered the Acadian'sfeelings toward the English, and the part he had played throughout. At length he said:

"Can you allow me to quarter myself here for the present? I cannot takeEdie into the camp, and she would not be willing if I could. I see fromher love for you how truly kind she has found you. I want to be withthe little one as much as possible; and, moreover, my presence heremay prove of use to you in the near future. "

The significance of these last words Lecorbeau did not care to question, but after a glance at his wife, who looked dumfounded at the proposition, he said:

"You may well realize, monsieur, that with this small cabin and thislarge family we can give you but poor accommodation. But such as it is, you are more than welcome to it. Your coming will be to us an honorand a pleasure, and a most valued protection. "

The lieutenant at once took up his abode in Lecorbeau's cabin. When, a few weeks later, the first scenes were enacted in the tragedy knownas the "Expulsion of the Acadians, " the friendship of the younglieutenant and of Edie stood Lecorbeau in good stead. This stormwhich scattered to the four winds the remnant of the Acadians, passedharmlessly over the cabin beneath the willows of Beauséjour. WhenAcadie was once more quiet, and Edie and her uncle went to Halifax, Lecorbeau added fertile acres to his farm; while Pierre accompaniedhis "petite" to the city, where his own abilities, and the lieutenant'ssteadfast friendship, won him advancement and success. 

 * * * * *

HOW THE CARTER BOYS LIFTED THE MORTGAGE. 

[Illustration: "When he reached the door he knocked imperiously. "--_Seepage 159_. ]

CHAPTER I. 

CATCHING A TARTAR. 

As long as they could remember, the roaring flow and rippling ebb ofthe great tides had been the most conspicuous and companionable soundsin the ears of Will and Ted Carter. The deep, red channel of the creekthat swept past their house to meet the Tantramar, a half mile further on, was marked on the old maps, dating from the days of Acadian occupation, by the name of the Petit Canard. But to the boys, as to all the villagersof quiet Frosty Hollow, it was known as "the Crick. "

To "the Crick" the Carters owed their little farm. Mrs. Carter wasa sea captain's widow, living with her two boys, Will and Ted, in a small yellow cottage on the crest of a green hill by the water. Behind the cottage, framing the barn and the garden and the orchard, and cutting off the north wind, was a thick grove of half-grown firtrees. From the water, however, these were scarcely visible, and theyellow house twinkled against the broad blue of the sky like the goldeneye of a great forget-me-not. 

I have said that the Carters owed their little farm to the creek. Thatis to say, their farm was made up chiefly of marsh, or diked meadow, which had been slowly deposited by the waters of the creek at high tide, then captured and broken into the service of man by the aid of long, imprisoned ramparts of sodded clay. This marsh land was inexhaustiblyfertile, deep with grass, purple in patches with vetch blossoms, pinkand crimson, along the ditches with beds of wild roses. Outside the dikesthe tawny current of the creek clamored almost ceaselessly, quiet onlyfor a little while at high water. When the tide was low, or nearly so, the creek was a shining, slippery, red gash, twisting hither and thitherthrough stretches of red-brown, sun-cracked flats, whitened here andthere with deposited salt. Where the creek joined the Tantramar, itsparent stream, the abyss of coppery and gleaming ooze revealed at ebbtide made a picture never to be forgotten; for the tidal Tantramar doesnot conform to conventional ideas of what a river should be. 

Had the creek been their only creditor the Carters would have beenfortunate. As it was, the little farm was mortgaged up to its full value. When Captain Carter died of yellow fever on the voyage home from Brazil, he left the family little besides the farm. To be sure, there was a sharein the ship, besides; but this Mrs. Carter made haste to sell, thoughshipping was at the time away down, and she realized almost nothingfrom the sale. Had she held on to the property a year longer she wouldhave found herself almost comfortable, for there came a sudden activityin the carrying trade, and shipowners made their fortunes rapidly. But Mrs. Carter cared little for business considerations where asentiment was concerned; and being descended from one of the oldestand most distinguished families of the country, she had a loftyconfidence that the country owed her a living, and would be at painsto meet the obligation. In this confidence she was sadly disappointed;and so it came about that, while Will and Ted were yet but small lads, the farm was mortgaged to Mr. Israel Hand, who greatly desired toadd it to his own adjoining property. 

It happened one summer afternoon, when Will was nearly eighteen yearsof age, and Ted fifteen, that the boys were raking hay in the meadow, while Mr. Israel Hand was toiling up the long hill that led fromFrosty Hollow to the yellow cottage. The figure of Mr. Hand was hiddenfrom the boys' view by the dense foliage of the maples and birch treesbordering the road. Toward the top of the hill, however, the lineof trees was broken; and in the gap towered a superb elm. Immediatelybeneath the elm, half inclosed in a luxuriant thicket of cinnamon, rose, and clematis, stood an inviting rustic seat which commandeda view of the marshes, and the windings of the Tantramar, and thefar-off waters of the bay, and the historic heights of rampartedBeauséjour. 

Toward the seat beneath the elm tree Ted kept casting eager but furtiveglances. This presently attracted Will's attention. 

"What have you, young one, been up to now?" he queried, in a tone halfamused and half rebuking. 

Ted's eyes sparkled mischievously. 

"O, nothing much!" said he, bending his curly head over the remainsof a bird's egg, which he suddenly discovered in the grass. But hisdenial was not intended to deny so much as to provoke further inquiry. He was a persistent, and sometimes troublesome practical joker; but heusually wanted Will to know of his pranks beforehand, that Will'ssteady good sense might keep him from anything too extravagant inthe way of trickery. 

"O, come off now, Ted, " exclaimed Will, grinning. "Tell me what it is, or I'll go and find out, and spoil the fun. "

"It's just a little trap I've set for a fellow I want to catch, "replied Ted, thus adjured. 

"Well?" said Will, expectantly. 

"Well!" continued the joker. "I've set a tub of 'crick' water--withlots of mud in it--right under the seat up there, and fixed the bushesand vines round it so that it hardly shows. I've sawed the seat almostthrough, from underneath, so that when a fellow sits down on it--andafter climbing the hill, you know, he always sits down hard--well, you can see just what's going to happen. "

"O, yes, " grumbled the elder boy, "I see _just_ what's going to happen. _I'll_ have to fix a new seat there to-morrow; for _you_ can't makea decent job of it. But, look here, I don't think much of that fora trick: There's nothing clever about it, and you may catch the wrongperson. I think you'd better go and fix it, before you do somethingyou'll be sorry for. "

"Don't you worry your old head!" answered Ted, determinedly. "I'm watchingto see who comes along. Do you suppose I'd let Mrs. Burton, or the rectortumble into the tub? What d'you take me for, you old duffer?"

"Well, " said Will, good-humoredly, "whom do you expect to catch?"

"Is your head so taken up with scientific musings that you haven'tnoticed how, lately, Will Hen Baizley has taken to going home this wayevery afternoon, instead of by the short cut over the back road?I expect he's got a girl down at the corners, or he wouldn't be comingsuch a long way round. Anyway, when he gets to the top of the hillhe always sits down on our seat, and fills up his pipe. I've beenlooking for a chance at him this long while!"

Will Hen Baizley was the most objectionable "tough" that Frosty Hollowcould boast. He was a bad-tempered bully, cruel in his propensities, and delighting to interfere in all the innocent amusements of thevillage youngsters. He was a loutish tyrant, and Ted had sufferedvarious petty annoyances at his hands for several years. In fact, theboy was looking forward to the day when he might, without presumption, undertake to give the bully a thrashing and deliver the neighbourhoodfrom his thraldom. As Will Hen, however, was about twenty years of age, large, and not unskillful with his fists, Ted saw some years of waitingyet ahead of him. Such suspense he could not endure. He preferred tobegin now, and trust to fate--and his brother Will--to pull him through. 

Will raked the hay thoughtfully for a few minutes without replying. He was a clear-headed youth, and he speedily caught the drift ofTed's ideas. 

"It'll be good enough for him, " said Will, at length, "but you've gota good deal of gall, it seems to me, young one! Why, Will Hen'll poundyou for it, sure. He'll know it's your doing. "

"Let him pound, the brute!" answered Ted, defiantly. "Anyway, I don'tsuppose _you_ are going to let him handle me _too_ rough! I daresay he won't actually punch me, for fear of getting into a rowwith you--though" (and here a wicked twinkle came into Ted's eye, forhe knew the pugnacity that lurked in his big brother's scientificnature), "though he _does_ say he can particularly knock thestuffing out of you!"

"Dear me, " murmured Will, grinning thoughtfully. "If he talks to youabout it, tell him there isn't any stuffing in me to speak of. "

During this conversation the boys had both, for a few minutes, forgottento watch the seat under the elm tree. Suddenly Ted glanced up, a thrillof mingled apprehension and delight went through him as he saw Mr. IsraelHand approaching the fatal spot. 

"Look, quick!" he exclaimed, in a gleeful whisper. 

Will looked. But Will was not amused. 

"Hi! there! _Don't sit down_, Mr. Hand! Don't!" He yelled, jumpinginto the air and waving his hay rake to attract additional attention. 

But it was too late!

Mr. Israel Hand was tired and hot from his walk up the hill. He was vexed, too, at the prospect of a disagreeable interview with Mrs. Carter, whowould not understand business matters. The seat beneath the elm wasa most inviting place. From it he could see the whole farm which hemeant presently to annex to his own broad acres. He was on the pointof seating himself when he heard Will's yell. He had a vague consciousnessthat the boys did not love him, to say the least of it. He concludedthey were now making game of him. Why shouldn't he sit down? If it wastheir seat now, it would soon be his, anyway. 

"Impudent young scoundrels!" he muttered, and sat down firmly. 

As the boys saw him crash through, and disappear, all but his headand heels, in a great splash of leaves and blossoms and muddy water, Ted fairly shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. But as for Will, hewas too angry to see the fun of the situation. 

"There, " he exclaimed, bitterly, with a ring in his voice that checkedTed's laughter on the instant, "your tomfoolery has fixed us at last. Out we'll go next spring, as sure as you want a licking. Hand'llforeclose now, for sure; and I can't say I'll blame him. No use metrying to stave him off now!"

Ted hung his head, feeling miserable enough, and casting about vainlyfor an excuse. 

"But I never--"

"O, don't wriggle, now, " retorted Will, sternly. "You know you saw himin time to warn him. You _wanted_ to get him into it. You just come alongwith me, and apologize. If he _is_ an old skinflint, you've got toremember he could have sold us out last year, only I succeeded inbegging off. Mother's high and mighty airs to him made the job twiceas hard as it might have been; but _you've_ made it _impossible_ to doanything more. Now he'll have us out in a twelve-month--and I was justgetting things so into shape that with two years more I could havesaved the old place!"

As the boys climbed the hillside Will's face was very white, and hismouth twitched nervously. He had taken hold of affairs about twoyears before, stopped a number of leaks, and displayed great tactin neutralizing the effects of Mrs. Carter's aristocratic and exclusivenotions. Mrs. Carter was a woman of untiring industry, most capablein all household matters, but superbly uncommercial. Having got themanagement into his own hands, and having entirely won his mother'sconfidence, Will was beginning to see a gleam of light ahead of him. If he could keep Mr. Israel Hand pacified for two years more, and yetprevent the schemer from imagining that the mortgage was going to bepaid in the end, he felt that victory was his. Mr. Hand wanted thefarm--but if he could win a reputation for forbearance, and get thefarm not less surely in the long run, he would be all the bettersatisfied. It was thus Will had gauged him. The boy's ambition wasto clear off the debt, and then earn something wherewith to finishhis own education and Ted's. Now, seeing the whole scheme nipped inthe fair bud by Ted's recklessness, small wonder if his heart grew hard. Presently, however, catching sight of Ted's face of misery, stainedwith one or two furtive tears, his wrath began to melt. 

"Well, Ted, " said he, "never mind now. It's no use crying over spiltmilk. You hadn't much time to think. I know you wouldn't have had ithappen for a good deal if you'd had time to think. Brace up, and maybewe'll find some way out of the scrape!"

At this Ted's face brightened a little, and he ejaculated fervently:

"I wish I wasn't such an idiot!"

"Don't fret!" replied Will, and the two trudged on to the little whitegate in front of the yellow cottage, carrying grievous apprehensionsin their hearts. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Israel Hand had extricated himself from the tub. He wasnot hurt saving as regards his dignity. But his heart was absolutelybursting with righteous rage. And yet, and yet, it was sweet to thinkof the revenge that lay so close within his grasp. No one now couldaccuse him of being too severe. Public feeling would justify hiscourse--and Mr. Israel Hand had a good deal of respect for publicfeeling. 

He did not pause to remove one atom of the sticky creek mud thatplastered grotesquely his rusty but solemn suit of black. Drenchedand defiled, he felt himself an object of sympathy. He would not evenremove the occasional green leaves and rosebuds that clung to him hereand there with a most ludicrous effect, making one think of a toofestive picnicker. Mr. Hand was quite lacking in a sense of theridiculous. 

When he reached the door he knocked imperiously, and after a second, rapped again. Mrs. Carter was busy in the kitchen. She resented thehastiness of the summons. Under no circumstances would she let herselfbe seen in the rôle of kitchen girl. She clung to appearances with atenacity that nothing could shake. Long practice in this sort of thing, however, had made her very expert; and by the time Mr. Hand hadthundered at the knocker four or five times, his wrath getting hotteras his damp clothes got more chilly, Mrs. Carter had made herselfpresentable and was ready to open the door. 

Severe and stately in her widow's garments, cool of countenance as ifshe had been but sitting in expectancy of callers, she opened the doorand confronted Mr. Hand. Recognizing her unwelcome visitor, she drewherself up to her full height, and the little, dripping old man lookedthe more grotesque and mean by contrast. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hand, " she began in tones of ice; "can I doanything"--but at this point she took in the full absurdity of hisappearance. With all her stateliness she had a keen appreciationof the ridiculous, and it was from her that Ted derived his excessof humor and his love of mischief. Passionately as she scorned Mr. Hand, she could forget herself so far as to let him amuse her. Her large facemelted into a smile. She struggled to keep from open laughter. 

"Look at me, just look at me, at my condition!" burst forth Mr. Hand"This is some of the work of your two brats of boys, madam. I'llhorsewhip them, I'll have them horsewhipped!"

By this time Mrs. Carter was laughing unreservedly. She was consumedwith mirth, as Mr. Hand continued:

"O, yes! I don't doubt you put them up to it! I don't doubt you thinkit is a great joke; a great joke, madam. But I'll make you smart for it!You think there's no one in Frosty Hollow fit to associate with you, eh!You're a pauper, and your brats are paupers! That's what you are. I'll foreclose that mortgage at once, and out you'll go, just as quicklyas the course of law will permit. This time next year you'll have noroof over your head, and everyone in the village will say I have donequite right by you! I--"

"Really, Mr. Hand" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, interrupting, "you haveno right to appear before me in such a shocking condition. If you wishto talk to me you must call again, and in more suitable attire. Excuseme!" And she shut the door in his face. 

Mr. Hand shook his fist at the big brass knocker, then turned to go. The boys were just opening the little white gate. Mr. Hand pausedbetween the beds of sweet williams and canterbury bells. He wasin doubt as to the attitude he had better assume to Will and Ted. Glancing along the road he saw the figure of Will Hen Baizleyinspecting curiously the ruins of the seat beneath the elm. Herewas an ally if need should arise. He decided on prompt retribution, and seized his stick in a firmer grasp. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE HAND OF THE LAW. 

"You pauper brats, " began Mr. Hand, advancing along the garden path, "I'll teach you to play your dirty tricks on me!" And he raised hisheavy cane. 

With a quick movement of his arm, Will had the stick firmly in hisgrip so that Mr. Hand could not stir it. 

"Stop that, Mr. Hand!" said Will, quietly. "You mustn't do that, sir. It was never intended _you_ should fall into that trap, sir. It wasset for another person altogether. You know, sir, you heard me yellto you not to sit down on it!"

"Let go of my stick, you young scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Hand, somewhatless outrageously than he had spoken before. The firmness of Will'sgrasp and the steadiness of his glance had a quieting effect on themoney lender's temper. 

"Certainly, sir, " said Will, releasing the cane. "Only don't do anythingfoolish. I don't wonder you are angry, very angry indeed. But I triedto stop you. And now we want to apologize and tell you how sorry we--"

"Indeed, indeed we are sorry, sir, " burst in Ted, impetuously. "Wewouldn't have had it happen for worlds, Mr. Hand!"

"Very likely not--not for a farm, in fact, " retorted Mr. Hand withelaborate sarcasm. 

"But it was only I did it, and I'm the only one to blame, sir, " urgedTed, desperately, catching the full meaning of the last remark. 

By this time Will Hen Baizley had approached. He paused in the middleof the road, filled with curiosity. Catching sight of Mr. Hand's absurdappearance, he understood what had happened. He saw the whole thing, as he thought, and he relished the joke hugely. Shaking and cacklingwith laughter, he came over and leaned against the picket fence. Hisridicule exasperated Mr. Hand, who suddenly resolved that he did notwant Mr. Baizley's assistance. He scowled menacingly at the youngruffian, and then replied to Ted's beseeching plea:

"You needn't talk to me, and think you're going to come round me withyour soft soap. You're all alike, the whole lot of you. You play adisgraceful trick on me, and then your mother slams the door in my face. You're a pack of fools. When you're just paupers, at my mercy for theroof that covers you, one'd think, even if you hadn't any decency, you might know what side your bread was buttered on. I reckon youexpect everyone to lick your shoes because your name's Carter! Well, your name's mud now. I'm going to foreclose right off, and out you'llgo next spring. And I don't want to hear no talk about it. "

Ted's face got very red, and it was with difficulty he kept back thetears of shame and bitterness, as he realized the consequences ofhis folly. But Will Hen Baizley was there, so he held himself manfullyerect, and glared defiantly at the tough who was grinning over the fence. Mr. Hand pushed past and was about to open the gate, when Will spoke:

"That's all right, Mr. Hand, " said the tactful youth, soothingly. "Ofcourse I can't blame you. Don't think I blame you. Business is business, and you might have honestly enough turned us out a year ago. We aregrateful to you, Ted and I, for having been so forbearing in the past. _We_ won't complain a bit. And as for mother, why, sir, you mustn'tthink hard of her if _she_ complains, because you know she doesn'tunderstand business. And then, she's had such a lot of trouble it hasmade her a little quick tempered to some people. "

These remarks were very gratifying to Mr. Israel Hand. They did notalter his determination in the slightest degree, but they soothedhis sense of injury. They largely removed his desire for revenge, and left nothing but his desire to possess the farm as soon as possible. The astute Will rightly judged that an opponent with two motives forhostility would be more difficult to handle than one with but a singlemotive. 

"Well, " said Mr. Hand, "you know now exactly what I'm going to do. You seem to be a very sensible young man, William, and please rememberit was only on your representations and at your earnest request thatI waited so long as I have. I look to you to prevent unnecessary fuss. You must yield to the inevitable. So don't let your mother raise anyuseless trouble. It won't do any good. "

With a sense of satisfaction that quite outweighed the humiliationshe had suffered, Mr. Hand strode off down the hill, ignoring Will HenBaizley, and forgetful of the mud and rose leaves on his raiment. 

"Haw!" exclaimed Will Hen Baizley. "That's a good un! You done thatslick! An' the old fellow b'lieved yer, too! Couldn't 'a lied out'nit slicker'n that myself!"

"There was no lying about it, " answered Ted, fiercely, flushing redderthan ever. But Will replied more calmly:

"What we told Mr. Hand was the exact truth, Will Hen. You can just betwe didn't want to let _him_ in for that. No, sir-ee! It was anotherlad altogether that little surprise party was intended for!"

And Will grinned mysteriously. 

"Mebbe 'twas me you was after!" suggested Will Hen Baizley, witha snarl. 

"I wouldn't bother my head about who it was intended for, if I wereyou, " said Will, in a good-natured voice. 

"Ef't had been me stidder old Hand, I'd 'a' broke every bone in yercarkus, " growled Baizley. 

"It wasn't Will that fixed the trap, anyway, " said Ted. "It was me, and Will never saw it till he came up the hill just now!"

"O, 'twas you, was it!" remarked Will Hen Baizley. "_I_ see, I see!Thought yer'd git square, eh? So it _was_ me you expected to seeflounderin' in that there old tub! I've 'most a mind to lick you fur itright now!"

Ted laughed; and the tough made a motion to spring over the fence. 

"Baizley!" said Will. And the fellow paused. 

"Go slow, now!" continued Will, with an amiable smile, but with asignificant look in his eye. "I dare say you'd sooner fight than eat, but you'd better go home to your supper just now. Anyway, you mustn'tcome in here, for I don't want to be bothered!"

"Do you want to fight?" queried Will Hen Baizley, defiantly, but atthe same time withdrawing from the fence. "I can lick you out o'yer skin!"

"But I don't want to be licked out of my skin, thank you, not thisevening!" responded Will, sweetly. 

"Yer dars'n't come out here an' stand up to me, " said the tough. 

"O, go along, Will Hen, and quit talking to your hat, " laughed Will, picking up the hoe and beginning to attack some weeds. "Do you supposeI've nothing better to do than punching your soft head? Maybe I'llfight you some day when there's something to fight about, and thenyou won't be half as eager. Bye-bye!"

At this Ted tittered with delight. As for Will Hen Baizley, he wasimpressed by Will's confidence and coolness so much that he did notreally wish just then to try conclusions with him. Therefore hecontented himself with repeating his taunt of "you dars'n't!" andswaggered slowly away. The boys went into the house. 

They found their mother in high good humor. She felt that she hadcome off victorious in the encounter with Mr. Hand, and she gave theboys a spirited account of the interview. This was received by Tedwith unfeigned relish, but Will smiled rather grimly. 

"And what was the impertinent old man saying to you out in the garden?"inquired the lady at length. 

"O, nothing more than we expected to hear, mother, " replied Will. "He merely gave us formal notice that he could let matters run on nolonger, but would foreclose instantly. "

"By all means let him foreclose, as he calls it!" said Mrs. Carter, loftily. 

"We've got to let him, as we can do nothing else, " answered Will. "But it's a little tough to think we'll have to leave the old placenext spring!"

"Leave this place!" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, warmly. "Indeed, we won'tdo anything of the sort. I should like to see him try to turn us out!Old Hand, whose father used to blacken your poor grandfather's boots, turn _us_ out of our own house! You don't know what you are talkingabout, Willie!"

To this Will made no reply. He merely smiled very slightly, and thrusthis chin forward with an expression of mingled doggedness and good humor. His mother felt that he was not convinced. 

"But, mother, " began Ted, "Will does know all about it. Old Hand _is_going to--"

"You hush at once, Teddie, " interrupted Mrs. Carter. "You are onlya little boy. As for Hand, if he attempts to interfere with me I willdrive over to Barchester and see the Hon. Mr. Germain about it. I willgo to law, if necessary, to defend our rights!"

"The trouble is, mother, in this matter we haven't any rights leftto speak of. It is the rights of Mr. Hand that the law will think of, "said Will, gently. 

"Willie, " said his mother with severity, "I don't want to hear anymore nonsense. I'm sure it was not so when _I_ was young, that thelaw would allow our domestics to trample upon us. The judges in thosedays were all gentlemen. I'm sure, Willie, I don't know where you getthose low, radical ideas. I fear I have been foolish not to look moreclosely into the kind of books you read!"

"Now, mother, " began Ted, pugnaciously, fired as usual with indiscreetzeal to make his mother see things with Will's eyes. 

But Will interrupted him. "Come off, Ted, " said he, "mother's right. The very best thing she can do is to go and see Mr. Germain. Come alongnow, it's time the cattle were tended. "

"Hurry in again, then, " said Mrs. Carter, mollified. "I'm going to havepancakes for you to-night, because you've been working so hard. "

"Bully for you, muz!" cried Ted, joyously, regardless of his mother'saversion to slang. And Will smiled back his gratification as theystarted for the barn. 

In a few minutes the cow stable was musical with the recurrent bubblingswish of the streams of milk which the boys' skilled hands were directinginto their tin pails. 

"Say, Ted, " exclaimed Will, from under the red and white flank of his cow. 

"What's up now?" inquired Ted. 

"I've just got hold of a brilliant idea, " continued Will. "We may escapeold Hand yet, and come out of this scrape fairly and creditably. "

"But you _are_ a clever old beggar!" responded Ted, in a voice ofadmiration. "You've got the brains of the family! What is it?"

"Come down to the crick with me after tea, and I'll explain, " said Will. "But don't say anything to mother. It's no use worrying her, and she'sgot enough to attend to!"

"Now don't keep me dying with curiosity, " urged Ted, pausing in hismilking and turning round. "Just give me a hint, to keep me from'bursting, ' so to speak!"

"Well, " answered Will, "it's _new marsh_ I'm after. Some more dike. See? Now wait till we're on the spot. I'm thinking. "

"By all means, _let_ it think if it can think like that, " exclaimedTed, jubilantly, and went on with his milking. Already he saw themortgage lifted, and all their difficulties at an end, so unboundedwas his confidence in Will's resources. 

After tea Will led his brother down to the marsh. Along the breezytop of the dike the boys walked rapidly, one behind the other, the diketop being narrow. It was near low tide, and the creek clamored cheerfullyalong the bottom of its naked red channel. A crisp, salty fragrance camefrom the moist slopes and gullies; and here and there a little pond, leftbehind by the ebb, gleamed like flames in the low sunset. 

Toward the upper end of the Carter farm the dike curved sharply inlandtill it joined the steep slope of their pasture lot. Here was a spaciouscove, inclosed by the Carter's pasture lot on the south and west, bytheir dike on the east, and on the north by the channel of the creek. At the time the dike was built the channel had lain close in alongthe foot of the upland, but it had gradually moved out to a straightcourse as the cove filled up with sediment. Of this change the dikeitself had been the main cause. Now the cove appeared at high wateras a bay or lagoon; but very early in the ebb its whole surface wasuncovered, and, except along the outermost edge, thin patches of saltgrass were already beginning to appear. 

To this spot the boys betook themselves, treading the way gingerlyover the tenacious but slippery surface. Will pointed to a half barrelsunk level in the ooze. It was full to the brim with fine silt. 

"What do you think of that?" inquired Will, mysteriously. 

Ted racked his brain for a suitable reply. He could gather no clewto Will's purpose, so he remarked:

"Very nice, healthy looking mud, seems to me? Going to sell it forbrown paint?"

"Paint!" exclaimed Will, scornfully. "But how long do you supposethat tub has been there?"

"Looks as if it had been there from the year one, " replied Ted, stillhopelessly adrift. 

"_I_ put _it_ there just three weeks ago!" said Will, watchinghis brother's face. 

"You _did!_" said Ted, blankly. Then a light dawned upon him. "But that's mighty quick work!" he continued. "You don't mean to tellme that all that mud was deposited by the tide in three weeks!"

"Every bit of it!" averred Will. "You see the Tantramar water is justloaded with silt. It has so much that the moment it stops to restit throws down as much of the load as it can. When it gets moving, regularly under way, it has to pick it up again. But the longer itstops the more it throws down; and the slower it moves the less itpicks up again. Inside the tub it is always slack water, so whateverfalls there stays there. That's why the tub has filled up so quick. Nearly a foot and a half in three weeks! Why, Ted, a raise of a footand a half along the outer slope of this cove, and we could dike inthe whole cove. See?"

Ted's eyes grew round and triumphant at the suggestion. 

"But how can it be done?" he asked

"Won't we have to wait till the tide does it for us?" and his tonedropped gradually from elation to dejection. 

"Not much!" said Will, turning back to the dike. "Just look here aminute!"

Seating himself on the dike top, he took a book from his pocket andbegan making rough diagrams on the fly leaf. 

[Illustration: Diagram of Warping Dykes. ]

CHAPTER III. 

A PIECE OF ENGINEERING. 

Ted craned his neck eagerly to watch the movements of Will's pencil. 

"You know, " began Will, with his head on one side, "in some parts ofthe world, when they want to make the tide work for them, they usethings they call 'warping dikes. ' These run on a slant out from theshore toward the channel. They generally slope up stream pretty sharply. The tide comes in, loaded right up with fine mud, flows over and intoand around the long lines of warping dike, then stops and begins tounload. Now, you see, when there are no warping dikes, the currenthas nothing to delay it, so it soon gets going on the ebb so fast thatit washes away pretty near all it has deposited. But these warping dikesbring in a new state of affairs. They so hinder the ebb that there ismore silt deposited, and at the same time there is less current on theflats to carry the mud away. As the engineers say, there is not so much'scouring'--a first-rate word to express it. Haven't you noticed how, in some spots, the current seems to scour away all the mud and leavenaked stones and pebbles?"

"Yes, " exclaimed Ted, "I get hold of the idea now. And when the warpingdikes have got their work in, what then?"

"Why, we'll dike the whole cove in. A short bit of dike from that cornerstraight across to the point will do it. We'll be able to get at it in acouple of months; and then, if you and I can't put the job through beforethe ground gets frozen, why, I'll hire help, that's all!"

"But it's a pretty big contract you're giving us, isn't it?" queried Ted, doubtfully. "Those warping dikes you're talking of look to me like anall summer's job. What'll they be like, anyway?"

"O, they'll be very slight. We can run them, with the help of old Jerryto haul for us, in less than no time, working evenings and wet days. We'll just lay lines of brush a foot high, and pile heavy stones alongthe top to keep it in place. Then we can raise them a little higher asthe place fills up!"

"O!" murmured Ted, greatly relieved. "I thought we'd have to _dig_them all, like the other dikes. "

After this the boys' talk was of nothing but deposits and warpingdikes and scouring. Their evenings and rainy days, usually spent intheir mother's company and in study, were now devoted to the labor ofhauling stones and brush down to the shore of the cove. To Mrs. Carterthey explained the scheme, but without reference to its connectionwith Mr. Israel Hand. She grasped its possibilities at once, beingclear-headed except where her prejudices were involved. 

"How many acres do you expect to reclaim?" she inquired, after praisingWill's sagacity warmly. 

"Well, " said Will, "of course we won't have it surveyed till the work'sdone and we are sure of the property; but I have an idea it will go agood ten acres, or maybe twelve. "

"And good diked land, or _ma'sh_ as these people call it, is worthabout two hundred dollars an acre, isn't it?" went on Mrs. Carter. 

"_This_ will be, in two or three years, anyway, " answered Will, "for it will be _deep_ marsh, alluvial to the bottom and permanentlyfertile. "

"And what do you suppose it ought to be worth next year, as soon asit's diked in?" asked Ted. 

"O, " said Will, carelessly, "maybe a hundred and fifty, or ten better, perhaps!"

"Dear boys, " said Mrs. Carter, "if all goes well you'll both be ableto get through college, perhaps. I must keep on steadily with Ted's Latinthis fall and winter. Dear me, I'm so sorry I let them laugh me out of mydesire to study Greek when I was a girl. I could be so useful to you bothnow if I'd learnt it!"

"Don't you worry about that, muz, " said Ted, jumping up to kiss her. "If you plug me up in my Latin, we'll find some way to manage aboutthe Greek time enough!"

When haying was over there was a slack time on the farm for a few weeks, and these few weeks sufficed the boys, working with eager energy, to getall the warping dikes laid down. To avoid the nuisance of neighbors'questionings, the idea occurred to Ted of sticking up stakes at intervalsalong the rows of brush and stone. When these stakes were connectedat the tops by binders, they looked like the framework of a long andelaborate series of fish weirs. Gaspereaux were fairly abundant in thecreek at certain seasons, so there was nothing unreasonable in thesupposition. But the dwellers in Frosty Hollow laughed hugely. 

"Them Carter boys thinks they knows everything, " was the universalcomment, "but they don't know the first thing about how to run a fishweir. Why, them there weirs 'll shet every gaspereaux aout o' the cove, 'n 'tain't much of a place fur gaspereaux, anyways!"

When such remarks were tendered to the boys they would merely reply, "You just wait till you see how our way works. If it doesn't workthe way we expect, then maybe it'll be time enough to try your way!"The experiment interested the village for a few weeks, and at lengthdied out of notice. 

It was utterly eclipsed, indeed, by a topic of profounder interest. The village learned that Mr. Hand was foreclosing his mortgage, andthat the Carters were to be sold out the ensuing spring. Some of thepeople were sympathetic, but others, resenting Mrs. Carter's proudexclusiveness, took a malicious delight in the near prospect of herhumiliation. 

Roused at last to a sense of the reality of the danger, Mrs. Carter, who was quite too busy at her buttermaking and other indoor farmworkto spare time for her threatened visit to Barchester, wrote urgentlyto the Hon. Mr. Germain. The boys posted her letter, from which theyknew nothing could come, and then went to comfort themselves with asight of the way the silt was piling up inside their warping dikes. 

The growth of the deposit had exceeded their most sanguine expectations. Early in August they decided that it was time to begin the permanentdike, the "running dike, " as it was called in local parlance. That sameday came a letter from Mr. Germain. When the boys came in to tea theyfound their mother in tears of indignation and despair. 

"_There's_ what he says!" exclaimed she, pointing to the open letter, which she had laid on Will's plate. "I do think things have cometo a strange pass in these days. I _certainly_ never dreamed thatCharles Germain could change like the rest!"

"Never mind, mother dear, " said Will, soothingly. "We're not in ourlast ditch yet. Trust me!"

And taking up the letter he read aloud for Ted's benefit:

"_My dear Mrs. Carter_: Believe me, it gives me great grief to learn of the difficulties you are in, and to feel myself so powerless to render you assistance. I feel bound to tell you that Mr. Hand, if I understand your letter, is entirely within his rights. You would have not a shadow of a case against him in the courts. There is but one way of escape from the penalty, and that is by payment of your indebtedness to him. In this, alas! I cannot help you at all adequately, as I have lately suffered such losses that I am just now financially embarrassed. Even had you good security to offer I could not lend you the sum you need, as my own borrowing powers (this strictly between ourselves) are just now taxed to their utmost. I think I can, however, offer one of your boys a position in my office on a small salary; and for the other I could, perhaps, within the next few months, obtain a situation in the Exchange Bank of this town. This, perhaps, would relieve your most pressing anxieties, and it would be a great pleasure to me to serve you. 

"Yours, with sincerest regards and sympathy, CHARLES GERMAIN. "

"That's a jolly nice letter!" exclaimed Ted. 

"Yes, mother, " said Will, handing it back to her, "I don't see anythingthe matter with that. "

Mrs. Carter drew herself up proudly. "Don't you see, " said she, "that he_puts me off!_ I asked him to extricate me from this difficulty, todefend for me _my rights!_ In reply he offers me, as if I were a beggar, employment for my sons. Practically, he takes the part of old Hand. O, I've no patience with such men! I'm serious!"

"Well, mother, you must allow, " said Will, "that if Mr. Germain says so, it's no use thinking of going to law against old Hand, is it? As forMr. Germain's kind offer to find places for Ted and me, why, if the worstcomes to the worst, that wouldn't be _too_ bad. We could live prettycomfortably in Barchester with our little salaries and your cleverhousekeeping. But maybe we won't have to leave here after all! _That's_what Ted and I have been up to all summer. We anticipated that Mr. Germainwould disappoint you; but we wouldn't say so. Our plan is to _sell thenew marsh_, when we get it diked in, and with the proceeds pay off Hand'smortgage with all the arrears of interest. There ought to be somethingleft over, too!"

"But I was proposing--I wanted to deed that piece of marsh to you boys!"objected Mrs. Carter, in a voice of mingled gratification and doubt. 

"O, muz!" answered Will, putting his arm around her, "what do we wantof it? The whole farm is ours, in that it's yours. That's all we wantthe new marsh for--just to clear off the mortgage. And we're goingto do it, too! We begin work on the running dike to-morrow. "

"You are two dear, good boys!" exclaimed their mother, tenderly. "If onlyyour poor father could have lived! How proud he would have been of bothof you!" And her eyes filled with tears. Next day Will and Ted armedthemselves with diking spades, and set to work determinedly. They hadthe old horse, Jerry, on the spot, harnessed to a light cart, readyto haul material as wanted. They began at the lower end of the cove, building upward from the corner of the old dike. Their purpose in thiswas to keep the scouring in check. By this method of procedure theywould have the final outlet (usually so difficult to close) locatedat the shallowest part of the cove. There would thus, as soon as thedike extended a little distance, be some water left behind after everyflood tide, and there would be so much less to make violent escapewith the ebb. If there should be left, finally, more imprisoned waterthan the sun could well evaporate that autumn, Will explained to Tedthat it would be a simple matter to drain it off and close up theoutlet between tides. 

At the end of the first day's work Mrs. Carter came down to noteprogress, and was shown several feet of sound, shapely dike, withplanks and large stones laid on the exposed end as a protection againstthe tide. A little calculation showed that it would be quite feasible, with perhaps a week or so of hired help toward the last, to finishthe dike before hard weather should set in. 

Everybody now at the yellow cottage on the hill was cheerful in thehope of speedy success. To their ears the clamor of the ebbing andflowing tides was a jubilant music. Their loved "crick" was becomingtheir friend-in-need. Its unctuous red flats acquired a new beautyin their eyes, and the mighty, sweeping tides they came to regardas the embodiment of their good genius. 

With the rapidly growing dike all went swimmingly for a time. But theneighbors were now completely undeceived. Though nettled at their formerdullness, they could not but applaud the ingenuity of the scheme;and they rather approved the reticence which the boys had observedin the matter. 

Among the villagers, however, there was one who did not like theturn affairs were taking. Mr. Hand perceived that he might yet bedefeated in his effort to gain possession of the Carters' farm. He was an astute old man, if he _didn't_ at first understand thewarping dikes. 

His first step was to threaten Will with proceedings to stop the work. He owned the marsh on the opposite side of the creek, and he claimedthat the building of the new dike would so alter the channel that hisproperty would be endangered. Will presently proved to him, beyondcavil, that the slight deflection of the currents would only throwthe scouring force of the stream against a point of rocky upland, some hundreds of yards below his marsh, where it could not possiblydo any harm. Then Mr. Hand professed himself entirely satisfied, and departed to devise other weapons. 

By the middle of September the dike extended more than halfway acrossthe mouth of the cove, and the work was daily growing easier. Thefacing of the water front, of course, was being left to do afterwards, when the weather should be unfit for digging. 

One morning, after a very high tide, the boys came down to find agood ten feet or more of their work washed away. They were terriblycast down. 

"How on earth did it happen?" groaned Ted. "Do you suppose we didn'tprotect the end properly?"

"I don't see any other explanation, " said Will, gloomily. 

"But if the stones were _swept_ off by the tide, " exclaimed Ted, withsudden significance, "wouldn't they be lying to one side or the other?These look as if they had been pulled off!"

"By the great horn spoon, you've hit it, young one!" cried Will, excited beyond his wont. "Good for you! The tide never did it! Someone has been helping the tide!"

"Will Hen Baizley!" declared Ted. "I shouldn't wonder a bit!" saidWill. "Well, Ted, there's nothing to do but go to work and build itup again. And to-night, why, we'll 'lay for him, ' that's all!"

Doggedly and wrathfully the boys toiled all day. At tea they toldtheir mother what had occurred. Mrs. Carter was furious. But whenWill declared their intention of watching that night for the depredator, her anger vanished in fear. At first she forbid positively all thoughtof such a thing. Will declared that he _must_ do it--it simply had tobe done. Thereupon she said she would forbid Ted going. At this Tedburst forth indignantly. 

"What, mother, would you have me leave Will all alone out there?"An idea which was, of course, to Mrs. Carter intolerable. She forgotto be imperative; she became appealing. 

"But, muz, " said Will, reassuringly, "there is no danger at all. Youcan trust me, can't you? Ted and I will each take a good, big club, and if, as we think, it is Will Hen Baizley, we'll give him a poundingthat will keep him civil for a while. "

"But what if he should have some ruffians with him?" urged the mother. 

"Well, just to be safe, _I'll_ take my gun, so as to be able to givethem a scare, you know. But Ted is so impetuous and bloodthirstythat he'd better not take anything but a club!"

"O, dear me! I suppose you _will_ go!" said Mrs. Carter. "But at leastyou must wrap up warm and take something in your pockets to eat!"

Just about dark the boys betook themselves to the lower corner of thenew dike. Under the shelter of the old dike they fixed themselvesa hiding place of brush and grass. From this point they could seedistinctly the figure of anyone approaching across the marsh. Whenthey were comfortably established Ted inquired:

"Say, old fellow, have you got your gun loaded?"

"No!" whispered Will. 

"Why not?" asked Ted, anxiously. 

"You don't suppose I want to shoot anybody, do you?" said Will. "I'vegot both barrels loaded with powder and wadding, so I can scare themout of their wits. And I've some bird shot in my pocket, to peppertheir legs with if I should have to!"

"O!" said Ted. 

The boys talked for perhaps an hour, in a cautious undertone, notaudible ten feet off by reason of the rushing and hissing and clamoringof the incoming tide. Then they were silent for a while. At length Tedmurmured:

"O, I say, but I'm getting sleepy. Can't you let me go to sleep fora bit? Wake me in an hour, and I'll let you snooze. "

"S't!" whispered Will, laying his hand on his brother's arm. "I heardsomething splash in that pool yonder!"

The boys noiselessly raised their eyes to a level with the top of thedike. At first they could see nothing. Then they detected a shadowyfigure making for the place where they had last been at work. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A RESCUE AND A BATTLE. 

"He's alone!" whispered Ted. "Shall we jump on him?"

"Hold on; wait till he gets to work, " said Will. "Then, if we catchhim in the act, he can't make any excuse, but just take his medicinelike a man!"

"It's Baizley, eh?" murmured Ted. 

At this moment they heard the stones and planks being pulled off theend of the dike. Then came the sound of a spade thrust into the claywith violence. 

"Now, " exclaimed Will, "let's onto him! let me get hold of him first, and then you take a hand in. "

Grasping their clubs, and leaving the gun lying by their nest, theboys slipped over the dike and dashed upon the marauder. So occupiedwas the latter with his nefarious task that he heard nothing tillthe boys were within ten feet of him. Then he started up, and raisedhis spade threateningly. 

"Drop that, Baizley, or I'll blow a hole in you!" cried Will, springingat his neck. 

At this instant the silent figure flung itself adroitly off the dike, dropping the spade and eluding Will's grasp. It started swiftly acrossthe muddy flat, the two boys close on its heels. 

For a few yards the boys just held their own. Then Ted, being theswifter, forged ahead. In a few seconds more he overtook the fugitive, sprang upon his neck, and bore him headlong to the ground. The nextmoment, before either could recover, Will had come up, and his irongrip was on the stranger's throat. 

"No nonsense, now, " said Will, in a voice that carried conviction, at the same time tapping the fellow's cranium lightly with his club. "If you don't want the life half pounded out of you, keep still!"

The fellow lay quiet, only gasping:

"Don't choke me!"

Will relaxed his grip, and then exclaimed to Ted, in astonishment:

"Why, it ain't Baizley!"

"Course, it ain't!" growled the fallen one, sullenly, appearingindignant at the imputation. 

"Sit up, and let's look at the fellow that goes round nights cuttingpeople's dikes!" commanded Will. 

The fellow turned over on his face. 

"Sit up!" repeated Will, in a cold voice, which sounded as if he wasin earnest. 

"Why, " exclaimed Ted. "If it isn't Jim Hutchings!"

"Old Hand's man, eh? I begin to smell a mouse, " said Will, sarcastically. 

"It's as plain as a pikestaff!" almost shouted Ted. "It's old Handthat ought to get the licking we were going to give you. But we'llhave to pound you a little for his sake and your own too!"

"No, Hutchings, " said Will, after a moment's thought. "You deservea licking, but we'll let you off. Only take warning. I'll blame oldHand this time, and you can let him know he's likely to hear from usabout this, and about last night's work. But as for you, if we catchyou fooling round this dike again, you'll be sorry as long as you live. We're on the watch for you and the likes of you. And over yonder I'vegot my gun, in case there were more than one of you in the scrape. "

"We've loaded her up, both barrels, " said Ted, maliciously, "withbig charges of bird shot, so she'll scatter well and everybody gethis share!"

By this time Jim Hutchings was on his feet. 

"Now clear out!" was Will's peremptory direction. 

Hutchings started back toward the dike to get his spade. 

"No, you don't, " laughed Ted. "That's confiscated!'"

"Never mind the spade!" said Will, firmly, as Hutchings hesitated. "We'll keep it and try and find some use for it!"

The fellow would have liked to contest the point, but he rememberedthe feeling of Will's grip. With an oath he turned on his heel andmade for the uplands. Then the boys went back to the dike, possessedthemselves of the spade, and repaired the slight damage that hadbeen done. 

"Shall we stay any longer?" asked Ted, again getting sleepy. 

"No, I fancy we won't be bothered this way any more!" answered Will. "At all events, Jim Hutchings won't come back!" And he chuckled tohimself. 

Will proved right. The dike was no more molested. By the middle of Octoberit was within two or three yards of completion. At the gap the groundwas high, so that at ordinary tides there was small outflow and inflow. Two or three days more of satisfactory work, and the new marsh would bean accomplished fact Will and Ted were in a fever of anxiety, day andnight, lest something should happen at the last to mar their plans. Above all, they had a vague dread of some sinister move on the partof Mr. Hand. 

Just at this time it happened that old Jerry lost a shoe. Ted was awayin the woods looking for a stray cow, so Will had to take the horsedown into the village to the blacksmith. 

On his return, about the middle of the forenoon, he passed a field inwhich Will Hen Baizley was at work digging a ditch. Along the foot ofthe field ran a clear trout brook, into which it was evidently theintention to drain a little swamp which lay further up the slope. Nearwhere Baizley was digging, the brook widened out into a sandy-bottomed, sunny pool, in which the minnows were always darting and flickering. 

Not far off stood the house of Mr. Israel Hand, where he guardedthe one being he was supposed to love, his little four-year-old orphangrandson. Whether or not he cared for anyone else, it would be hardto say; but there was no questioning the fact that he absolutelyworshiped Toddles, as the baby was called. The little one was ablue-eyed, chubby, handsome lad, with long yellow curls and an unlimitedcapacity for mischief. 

As Will passed along the road he saw Toddles playing in the field whereBaizley was digging. Presently he was tickled to observe that the childhad discovered Baizley's tin dinner pail, hidden in a clump of raspberrybushes. The mischievous little rascal promptly emptied the contents outupon the sward, and then, with his chubby hands full of cheese andpumpkin pie, scampered over to the edge of the pool. 

"Pitty pishies! give pishies 'eir dinner! Pishies! Pishies!" criedthe gleeful little voice; and splash into the pool went the cheeseand pumpkin pie, frightening the "pishies" nearly out of their wits. 

Will exploded with laughter; and at the same moment Baizley, lookingup from his work, discovered the fate that had befallen his dinner. 

Now Will Hen Baizley was in an unusually bad temper. Digging ditcheswas not a labor he was accustomed to, and it made his back ache. In hisbest of humors he was a coarse and heartless bully. On this occasionhe was filled with rage against the baby depredator. Toddles had annoyedhim on several previous occasions, and just now Will's laughter was theone thing best calculated to sting his annoyance into fury. With a roarthat frightened Toddles into instant silence, he rushed forward andgrabbed the child, giving him a violent cuff on the side of the head. 

It happened that Mr. Hand was looking out of the window of his houseon the hillside and saw all that happened. With a hoarse cry of rageand terror he rushed out to the rescue. But the house was three or fourhundred yards away, and his old knees trembled beneath him as he thoughtof what the little one might suffer before he could get there. 

The poor little fellow was dazed by the blow, and could not get hisbreath to scream. The next moment Baizley had seized him by the legsand soused him in the pool. When he came out again he found his voice, and a long shriek of pain and terror went through Mr. Hand's heartlike a knife. 

All this had happened so quickly that Will was unable to hinder it. He was choking with indignant pity, and found himself on the fenceand half way across the field before he could yell:

"Drop that, you brute!"

Baizley was too much occupied to hear or heed. He was just about toduck the little one a second time when Will arrived. 

With one hand Will seized the child by the petticoats, and with theother dealt the ruffian a blow in the mouth that staggered him andmade him release his victim. Will had just time to drop the littlefellow to one side and put up his guard when Baizley was upon himwith a curse. 

The blow was a mighty one, and so sudden that Will parried it withdifficulty, at the same time almost staggering upon Toddles, who layon his face wailing piteously. Afraid lest the child should get injuredin the conflict, Will dodged aside and ran off a few paces. Ascribingthis movement to fear, Baizley followed him up impetuously, with oathsand taunts. 

On a bit of level, dry turf Will faced his big antagonist. Baizley washeavy of build, strong of arm, and not without some knowledge of thepugilistic art. He was also a little taller than Will. To the casualglance the latter appeared no match for him. Fair-skinned, slender, and with something of a studious stoop to his shoulders, Will'sappearance gave small indication of the strength that lurked in hiswell-corded sinews. Under his pale skin he concealed almost as muchsheer lifting power as Baizley's big frame could muster; and thesteel-like elasticity of his compact muscles gave his blows swiftnessand precision. 

Keen of eye, and with a cool, provoking, indulgent smile hovering faintlyabout his mouth at times, he successfully parried several terrific lunges. He spoke not a word, husbanding his wind prudently, while Baizley, on theother hand, kept interjecting bursts of fragmentary profanity. About thistime Mr. Hand arrived upon the scene, panting heavily, and seating himselfon the ground, gathered the sobbing Toddles into his arms. 

Will's first intention was to act on the defensive till he should wearyhis opponent; but his opponent's sledge-hammer fists were not easilywarded off. He got one heavy blow on the chest that made him gasp forbreath; then he tried dodging, and giving ground nimbly and unexpectedly. At length he saw an opening, and quicker than thought he struck heavilywith his left fist on Baizley's eye. At the same instant in came aterrific blow which made his head ring and the stars chase themselvesbefore his eyes. 

For a moment the two combatants lurched apart. Will was the first torecover himself. A white rage surged up within him, and he felt hisveins prickle, his sinews tighten. A new access of nervous energyseemed to flow into him, and he imagined his strength had been suddenlydoubled. The ruffian's hands struck out both together wildly. 

Will's chance had come, and he grasped it. The bully reeled under ablow between the eyes, and fell headlong. 

For a moment he did not stir. Then he began to gather himself up. 

"Have you had enough?" inquired Will. 

"Yes, I've quit!" growled Baizley. 

"You are a contemptible, cowardly brute, " continued Will, "and it'sin jail you ought to be. Mind you, now, if I catch you, or hear ofyou abusing a youngster again, it's in jail you'll certainly be!"

As Baizley slunk away, Mr. Hand came up with Toddles in his arms. The little one was still shaking with sobs, and his tear-stainedface looked so white and pitiful that Will felt like going afterBaizley and giving him another thrashing. 

"Poor little kid!" he said, compassionately, taking no notice whateverof Mr. Hand. 

But Mr. Hand positively refused to be ignored. 

"God bless you, God bless you, William!" he exclaimed, with the ringof sincere feeling in his voice. "You're a noble young man, a _noble_young man. I can't thank you; words can't express what I--what I feeltoward you for this. "

Here he kissed passionately the yellow head of Toddles as it lay onhis shoulder. 

"Don't speak of it, Mr. Hand, " said Will, wiping his bleeding face. "Any other fellow would have done the same if he'd had the chance. That cowardly brute! I wish I hadn't let him off so easy!"

"I'll have him arrested to-morrow, " burst out Mr. Hand, his voicequavering and shrill with anger. "But as for you, William, " he continuedmore quietly, "what you've done for my Toddles I never can forget. You sha'n't have no cause to say I'm ungrateful to one that's beena friend to Toddles!"

"Well, Mr. Hand, " said Will, returning to his wagon, "all I can say isI'm mighty glad I happened along just when I did. Toddles is a great boy, and I've always liked him, whatever I may have had against his grandfathersince that night on the dike! I hope Toddles won't be a bit the worse now!"

"Don't talk about that dike, " pleaded Mr. Hand, nervously. "_Don't_mention it again! Don't, William! And, William, you will hear from mein a day or two about business matters. Or, I'll be in to see you!"

CHAPTER V. 

A TRANSFER OF THE MORTGAGE. 

When Will reached home Ted met him at the gate with a cry of surpriseand commiseration. 

"What in the world have you been doing to your face?" he questioned. 

"Thrashing Baizley!" said Will, tersely. 

Ted's exclamations had brought Mrs. Carter to the door in time to hearWill's reply. She was alarmed at the sight of Will's swollen anddiscolored features; and her alarm made her angry. 

"I'm ashamed of you, Willie, " she cried, "stooping to brawl with a lowfellow like that. It serves you right if you have got hurt. Come, run inand get your face bathed in hot water. Why, it's dreadful! Go rightup stairs and get me the arnica, Teddie!"

As Mrs. Carter bathed the swollen face in hot water, Ted standing bywith the arnica bottle, Will managed to get out a somewhat grimlyjocose account of the affray. Ted, of course, was jubilant. From timeto time he sprang up and shouted. At length, clapping Will on the back, so violently that his mother spilled the hot water, he cried:

"Good boy! _Good_ boy! O, if I'd _only_ been there!"

As for Mrs. Carter, her assumed vexation had quickly disappeared. Shelistened proudly and in silence. At the end she merely said:

"Dear boy, that was fine of you. It was just what your poor fatherwould have expected of you!"

Will spluttered some discolored water out of his mouth before replying, and twisted his features into a lugubrious attempt at a smile. 

"I felt pretty big, myself just after it was over, " he said at length, "but now it's sort of different. A fellow can't feel heroic with hisface bunged up like this. But say, muz, old Hand can't be as bad asthey make out when he's so wrapped up in Toddles. He just worshipsthe youngster!"

There was a pause, and in through the window came the rushing clamorof the creek. 

"Well, " said Mrs. Carter, rather reluctantly, "Mr. Hand has probablyhis redeeming qualities. At least, he appreciated your courage. Byyour account he did speak quite nicely. "

"What do you suppose he meant by saying you would hear from him in aday or two?" queried Ted. 

"O, " said Will, "I think the old fellow is grateful; and I think he'smighty ashamed of what he got Hutchings to do to our dike that time. I shouldn't wonder if he'd offer us more time, and withdraw proceedingsagainst us!"

"I should _think_ so!" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, indignantly. "He couldhardly have the face to sell us out now! But I don't wish to be underany obligation to him, that's certain. When the new marsh is sold wecan be entirely independent of him!"

"Yes, muz, that's so, " said Will, "but _do_ let _me_ arrange withhim! You say you wanted to deed that new marsh to Ted and me! Now Imake a request of you. Don't talk business at all with Mr. Hand tillI've had a talk with him myself. I promise you I'll consider your wishesin the matter!"

"Well, since you wish it so much, it shall be as you say!" saidMrs. Carter, rather unwillingly, at length. 

"And also, muz, " continued Will, removing the big, wet sponge fromhis eyes to make the more potent appeal; "_if_ Mr. Hand should cometo see me when I'm out, _do_ promise to be nice to him!"

Mrs. Carter made no reply. 

"Ted wishes it as much as I do, don't you, Ted?" added Will. 

"You're just right, " responded Ted, fervently. "So much depends onlittle things just now!"

Still Mrs. Carter kept silence. Mr. Hand was her most cordial detestation. 

"And you know, muz, " went on Will, coaxingly, "you can be _so_ fetchingwhen you want to be, and when you want to be otherwise, well" (and hereWill chuckled). "I don't exactly wonder that old Hand doesn't love youmuch. But no one can smooth him down like you, if you only will. Do it, muz, just for us boys! All you'll have to do will be just smile on him, and talk about the weather!"

"O, you dreadful flatterer, " laughed Mrs. Carter. "Do you think it'sright to try and soft soap your mother this way? Well, I'll promiseto be polite and nice to Mr. Hand if he should call! Will that do?"

"Thank you, muz!" said both the boys together. 

The copious use of hot water and arnica soon brought Will's face intosomething like shape, and work on the dike was not greatly hindered. In less than three days more the gap was closed, and the tides finallyshut out from the new marsh. The expanse of reddish-brown mud, dottedwith pools of muddy water and patches of yellow-green salt grass, wasnot exactly fair to look upon; but the boys' hearts swelled with triumphas they surveyed it, leaning on their victorious spades. There was yetthe dike front to be faced, and much ditching to be done besides, erethe land would become productive. 

"But it's good for a hundred and fifty an acre, just as it stands, "declared Will, his voice trembling a little with exultation. 

"Lay it there, old man!" exclaimed Ted, holding out his hand. And thetwo boys clasped hands in a grip that was full of love and trust, anda pledge of mutual support all through the future. 

"Now, " said Will, "in a day or two I'd better go and see Mr. Germainand get his advice as to the best way of selling. "

"That's a good plan, " answered Ted "You take mother with you, she'llenjoy the drive. And I'll stay and look after things. "

"As for old Hand, " went on Will, "I shouldn't wonder a bit if he wouldoffer to knock off that two hundred and fifteen dollars arrears ofinterest!"

"Perhaps, " said Ted. "It would be decent of him. "

That afternoon, as the Carters were sitting down to tea, Jim Hutchingsarrived with a note from Mr. Hand. The man looked very uncomfortableas Ted came to the kitchen door. He said he would wait for an answer;but he surlily refused to come in. 

Mr. Hand's note was to Will, asking if he would be at home that evening. Will answered that he would, and would be glad to see Mr. Hand. 

About eight o'clock Mr. Hand appeared, and was ushered by Ted into thesitting room where Will and his mother were talking over the matter ofthe new marsh. Mrs. Carter greeted Mr. Hand quite graciously, as Willbrought forward a chair. Then she started to leave the room. 

But Mr. Hand, flattered by her politeness, begged her to remain. 

"I thought, " said Mrs. Carter, "that if you had business with my sonWill, Ted and I might perhaps be in your way!" and returning to herchair she took up a piece of sewing. Ted hovered over her, too anxiousand excited to sit down. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Hand, "my business is entirely with William; but Ishould be glad to hear that you approve of it. "

Mr. Hand had rather dreaded the possible attitude of Mrs. Carter. It hadbeen his intention not to let the warm regard he felt for Will interferewith the stiffness of his demeanor to Will's mother. But Mrs. Carter'saffability had flattered him in spite of himself. At the same time, he glowed with the consciousness that he was going to perform an actof really distinguished generosity. He was, by second nature, just whathe got the credit of being, hard, unscrupulous, avaricious. But hisunselfish devotion to his little grandson was gradually opening up a warmand wholesome spot in his heart, where flourished anew the capabilitiesfor good which had not been lacking to him in his youth. 

As he gazed about the cozy room, and felt his presence not distasteful, he began to feel very much at ease. The luxury of benefaction was a newone to him, and he wondered at the keenness of its flavor. He began toforget what he had intended to say. 

"And how is Toddles, Mr. Hand?" inquired Will, presently. 

"None the worse, none the worse at all, " said Mr. Hand, recallinghimself. "He said he wanted to come and see you, William. He wasanxious to give you a kiss; and he's got a lot of pebbles and hisfavorite jackknife stowed away in a little box, to give you whenhe sees you!" And Mr. Hand laughed genially. He was prepared to talkall night on the subject of Toddles. 

"And what has become of that ruffian Baizley?" asked Mrs. Carter. "I never could have imagined anyone being such a fiend as to treatan innocent baby that way. I hope you have had him arrested. "

"He got away. He left on a ship that night, " replied Mr. Hand. "But, madam, you should be very proud of your son William. "

"I am, " laughed Mrs. Carter. "I am very proud of both my sons. "

"But William, if you will allow me to say so, is a very unusual youngman, " persisted Mr. Hand. "Edward, of course, is younger, and I don'tknow him so well. But I never saw anything like the courage with whichWilliam attacked that ferocious Baizley, who must have been twice hisweight. And the way he handled him, too! It was truly wonderful, madam. Baizley was just nowhere. I never could have believed it if I had'ntseen it with my own eyes!"

"Now, Mr. Hand, you'll make me vain, if you don't stop, " laughed Will. 

"You wouldn't think Baizley was just nowhere if you could have seenWill's face when he came home that morning, " interrupted Ted. 

But Mr. Hand was now on the track he had laid down for himself, andwould not be switched off. 

"And, moreover, " he continued, "you are a judicious young man, William, and you seem to have an excellent head for business. I admire goodbusiness abilities. In fact, I may say that for a long time I havefelt well disposed toward you. Now, however, allow me to say thatI feel the very highest esteem and regard for you; and as a littlemark of my gratitude, and in the name of my grandson, I beg that youwill accept what is enclosed in this envelope. "

He drew from his pocket a long, official-looking envelope, and handedit to Will with a ceremonious bow. 

Will hardly knew what to say. He could not guess what was in it, and allhe could do was to stammer a few confused words of thanks. The envelopehad a very important look, and he was both impressed and mystified. Ted could not repress his eager curiosity, and came around to Will'sside. Even Mrs. Carter was intensely interested, and forgot to refrainfrom showing it. Mr. Hand looked on with a swelling sense of benevolence. He had anticipated no such delightful sensations. 

With his pocketknife Will opened the envelope very carefully alongthe end. With nervous fingers he drew out a legal document, withred seals and several smaller documents attached. 

For a moment the legal verbiage of the instruments bewildered him. Then he exclaimed:

"Why, it's the mortgage! I don't exactly understand! O, Mr. Hand, this is _too_ good of you. You relinquish the mortgage, the whole debt, for nothing. That is _too_ generous, really!"

Mrs. Carter was a little overwhelmed. She rose to try and minglethanks and protestations, but Mr. Hand cut her short. 

"O no, William, " he explained, "you have not read all the papers! Youwill see that I have not released the mortgage at all. I have made itover to another person, to _you_, that's all. This farm is still undermortgage, but you, William, are now the mortgagee. I have nothing moreto do with the matter at all. The claim is all yours, with some twohundred and fifteen dollars arrears of interest, which you must collectfor yourself the best way you can. But if I may, I would like to intercedefor your good mother now, and beg you not to be too severe!"

Mr. Hand chuckled, as he gazed on the mystified faces about him. ThenWill sprang forward and grasped his hand. He could not find words toexpress his gratitude. They simply would not come. 

"Then we're not going to be sold out?" cried Ted. 

"Not unless William sells you out for the amount of the mortgage. Ask him, " replied Mr. Hand. 

Such an act of generosity on the part of "old Hand" deprived even theimpetuous Ted of his powers of expression. But Mrs. Carter found words. 

"Really, Mr. Hand, " she said, and her voice trembled with deep feeling. "I wish I could make you see how we appreciate your noble generosity. I wish you could see how bitterly I reproach myself for the injusticeI have done you in the past. However hard and merciless you may haveseemed to me, I must have grossly misunderstood you; for only a goodand generous heart could prompt you to such an action as this. NeitherI nor my sons can even pretend to thank you. We feel your kindness toodeeply. "

"Mother hits it exactly. That's what I wanted to say, only somehowI couldn't, Mr. Hand, " said Will. 

"But will you not let us hope we may be honored with your friendshipin the future?" continued Mrs. Carter. "You must often be lonely at home, and I should be so pleased to see your little grandson here whenever youcan manage to bring him. "

"That's so, " exclaimed Ted. "I want to see the young hero that fed WillHen Baizley's dinner to the fishes. _He's_ the one we have to thankfor the present jolly state of affairs!"

Mr. Hand was overflowing with good will. Moreover, he was hugelyflattered by Mrs. Carter's words and manner. In his heart he attachedan extravagant importance to the accidents of pedigree. He was strugglingto utter his appreciation of Mrs. Carter's proffered friendship, whenthere came a knock at the front door. It was Jim Hutchings, whom Mr. Handhad left outside to hold the horse. 

"There's somebuddy a-goin' to set your barn afire, " he whispered eagerly. "Come quiet, an' we'll ketch him in the act!"

"Fetch a pail of water, Ted, " said Will, with prompt presence of mind, running upstairs for his gun. 

While he was gone Mr. Hand asked Hutchings how he knew of it. 

"I thought I seen a chap slide behind the barn, so I jest hitched thehoss an' crep' over to see what he was up ter, " explained Hutchings. 

As the boys and Hutchings, followed discreetly by Mrs. Carter andMr. Hand, emerged from the back door, a glimmer of flame appearedbehind the stable. There was a swift rush, and Ted dashed out thegrowing flame with his bucket of water. At the same moment Will andJim Hutchings threw themselves upon a man who was just fanning theflame into vigor. 

The stranger sprang up, and a revolver shot rang out upon the night. On the instant a blow from Will's gunstock brought him to the ground, and Hutchings grabbed the revolver. "Now keep still, or it'll be theworse for you, " said Will. "Ted, bring a rope. "

Partly stunned, or realizing that resistance was useless, the strangerlay still with one arm over his face. Presently Ted came back with therope and a lantern. 

"If it isn't Will Hen Baizley back again!" exclaimed Hutchings. 

"Thought you'd get even with me before the ship sailed, eh?" inquiredWill, amiably. 

"Well, " said Mr. Hand, "I'll see that he is taken care of for a goodwhile in the penitentiary. Tie him up so he can't make trouble, andwe'll drive him right over to the jail now. "

Baizley could not be induced to utter a word, so he was put into thewagon, where Hutchings held him while Mr. Hand took the reins. As hebid good night, Mr. Hand said to Will:

"By the way, William, if you decide to sell your mother out, you hadbetter see the sheriff pretty soon. There'll be some costs, and fees, and so forth, that you'll have to pay, you know. "

"All right, " laughed Will, happily. "I guess I can manage. I'm prettyrich now, you know. "

The boys stood at the garden gate with their arms linked to theirmother's and listened to the wagon as it clattered away. Then therushing of the flood tide, washing up to their dikes, attractedtheir attention. 

"The tide's coming in for us, dear boys, " said Mrs. Carter. "Howlovely the creek sounds to-night! Surely God has been very goodto us, and the prospect, that was so dark a while ago, has becomevery bright and happy. "

"Fifteen hundred dollars' worth of new marsh at least, " said Will, joyously, "and no debt on the farm, no foreclosure, no sheriff's sale!You, muz and Ted, I verily believe I'll have to sell you out after all, to keep you from getting too big!"

"Say, old man, let's yell!" exclaimed Ted. 

"All right!" began Will; but their mother laid her hands over their mouths. 

"O, no! no!" she pleaded "What would the neighbors think--and Mr. Hand?"

THE END.