Front matter

By

MARGARET T. VAN EPPS

Author of

“Nancy Pembroke, College Maid,” “Nancy Pembroke in New Orleans,” “Nancy Pembroke, Sophomore at Boxford,” “Nancy Pembroke in Canada,” “Nancy Pembroke, Junior” etc.

THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO. Cleveland, Ohio—New York City

Copyright, 1930 by THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.

Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Résumé

A Beginning

Bon Voyage

On the High Seas

Halifax

The Land of Evangeline

En Route to Digby

In the Mail

Rambles about Yarmouth

Where Is Nancy?

After Effects

The Unexpected

A Letter

Plans

Parties

A Strange Encounter

CHAPTER I

A RÉSUMÉ

It was one of those chilly, rainy days that A sometimes come in early summer, when a grate fire is not only cheery but almost necessary. Mrs. Pembroke was embroidering at one side of the hearth, while she visited with the guest her daughter had brought home from college the preceding evening.

“It is too bad that Nancy had to leave you the very first thing,” observed Mrs. Pembroke, glancing at the girl who was sprawled in the big chair opposite her.

“Oh, I don’t mind; but I’m sorry about her tooth. She said it began to trouble her yesterday, and I guess she slept very little last night. I didn’t know about it, or I should have stayed awake with her.”

“Nancy certainly would not have wanted you to do that. So you slept well; did you?”

“Just like a log. Nan’s room is lovely; but I was so surprised to find twin beds in it. I had hoped that we would sleep together.”

“We think it is better for people to sleep alone; and Nan so often has someone here for the night, that I took out the big bed which used to be in there, and substituted the two singles; though it does crowd the room a bit.”

Mrs. Pembroke did not mention that the change had been a very recent one. When her daughter wrote for permission to bring home for the first two weeks of the summer vacation this singularly unattractive classmate, she immediately replied that if Nan were willing to have the girl share her room, she might invite her.

“What’s the idea?” Mr. Pembroke had inquired when he read the letter.

“A twofold one. In the first place, using the guest room makes a lot more work; and in the second, it is not unwise to let Nancy put up with a few things. She has always enjoyed all the privileges of an only child, which have naturally resulted in the development of numerous little faults——”

“I can’t see them,” interrupted her husband. “Nan’s one fine girl—I think!”

“And I agree with you. I’m just as fond and proud of her as you are; but you must admit that she is over-impulsive. She jumps into something without thinking; and then when she gets into difficulties, someone has to help her out. I just want her to learn to consider all sides of a project before she undertakes it.”

“Sure, that’s all right; but what has it to do with this Kane girl who is coming here?” Mrs. Pembroke had smiled and patiently explained. Men were so slow to grasp an idea, sometimes!

“Nan, who evidently felt sorry for the girl in question—I understand she has been shunned by all the rest—suddenly decided to ask her here for a couple of weeks. That is all right, and I admire her for it; but I want her to carry out her good deed to the very end. If I put Emma in the guest room, and take her off Nan’s hands a great deal of the time, how is the experiment going to help our girl? Don’t you see the situation?”

“No,” Mr. Pembroke had replied bluntly, “I’m afraid I don’t; but as long as you do, and are satisfied, it’s all right with me.”

A couple of days before college closed, Mrs. Pembroke, who had been giving some serious thought to the matter, went downtown one morning and purchased twin beds, a new rug, and new curtains for her daughter’s room. A wave of gratification swept over her now as she recalled Nancy’s surprise, delight, and rapturous thanks. She had left Emma getting ready for bed, and had flown to her mother’s room to give vent to her enthusiasm which she had concealed from her guest.

Mrs. Pembroke was aroused from her reverie by a question from Emma.

“Jeanette comes here a lot; doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Has she always known Nancy?”

“Since they were little bits of tots. We moved here when Nancy was little more than a baby, and they went through grade and high school together. When they were graduated, Nancy did not know whether she wanted to go to college or not; so she planned to stay home with me a year, and try to decide. Jeanette was getting ready for Smith when Mr. Pembroke had to go West on business, to be away for a year. My brother, Dr. Donovan, persuaded me to go too, as I was not very well at the time, saying that Nancy could go to the college at Eastport where he lived. So it was decided; and Jeanette changed her plans, and went to Eastport too.

“My brother had to go abroad with a patient the following summer, and Nancy spent the time at Jeanette’s. They took a little trip up the Rideau Lakes; and later in the summer a friend of Mrs. Grant’s, a Miss Ashton, took them down the St. Lawrence and up the Saguenay. They stopped at Tadousac, Quebec, and Montreal, and had a wonderful time. In the fall, Nancy felt that she simply couldn’t go back to Eastport, with her uncle still away. You see, they had been very devoted to each other ever since Nan was a baby, and naturally they had seen a great deal of each other during Nancy’s Freshman year at Eastport. So she and Jeanette begged to go to Roxford. From there on, you know their story too.”

“But I thought that the summer after their Sophomore year they went to New Orleans to visit Nan’s uncle and aunt,” said Emma, frowning in a puzzled manner.

“They did. Dr. Donovan’s patient, Mr. Doyle, died shortly after they took him to Germany; and since his widow was ill from strain and shock, and my brother was taking a course at one of the medical schools, the two stayed on for a time. Some months later, they married, and the doctor had an offer of a position in a New Orleans hospital. So they settled there.”

“Oh, I see. And where are the girls going this summer? I haven’t heard Nancy say.” Emma had an insatiable curiosity, which she made no attempt to conceal.

“Miss Ashton and Madelon want them to go to Nova Scotia with them.”

“Madelon? Who is she?”

“A little French girl whom they met in Beaupre, and who came back to live with Miss Ashton in Boston, and go to high school. She had always wanted to continue her education in ‘the States,’ as she refers to this country, and since her foster parents (her own died when she was very young) did not need her, Miss Ashton invited her to return with them. She goes to high school in the morning, and takes charge of a doctor’s office afternoons and a couple of evenings each week.”

“I should like to see Nova Scotia,” observed Emma. “When are they going?”

“Their plans have not been fully worked out yet; so the exact date has not been set. But your summer is entirely taken up with invitations from your college mates; is it not?” asked Mrs. Pembroke, hastening to discourage any idea of her following the others. She had some Spartan theories regarding her daughter’s character development, but she did not want them to spoil a vacation trip.

“Y-e-s, but——”

“I think it is a very fine opportunity for you,” interrupted Mrs. Pembroke, “and one you should make the most of. It is good for all of us to share the home lives of others occasionally. We see how things are done, and get all kinds of new and beneficial ideas. While most of the girls whom you will visit are not especially wealthy, they are all very fine girls who know exactly what to do, and how to do it under all circumstances. Excuse me for being rather frank, Emma—I am speaking to you exactly as I should if you were Nancy; but since you have not had the same advantages of home life and training as they, why not observe closely the ways and customs of your hostesses? Many little personal habits and niceties you will probably want to adopt for your own.”

The suggestions were difficult to make, but Mrs. Pembroke presented them in so gentle and charming a manner, that a girl considerably more sensitive than Emma. Kane could hardly have taken offense. She gave all her attention at this point to a difficult spray in the embroidery pattern, and Emma thought about the various girls whom she was to visit.

Nancy and Jeanette, with eight other girls of their class, had, during Junior year, formed a secret club whose object was charity of various kinds. When Nan and Janie had announced their intention of devoting part of their summer vacation to trying to “make over” Emma Kane, the other members of the club had each volunteered to entertain the girl for a week.

Emma had been unpopular all through her college course. Besides being unattractive, she was careless about her personal appearance, lacking in all the niceties of manner that seemed to come so naturally to the rest of the girls, and was always forcing herself upon people. She was naturally sociable, and apparently failed to realize why the other girls avoided her.

Early in their Junior year, she paid considerable attention to Nancy, who, acting on the advice of her friends, discouraged any intimacy. The matter rather troubled Nancy throughout the year; for she thought that something might be made of the girl, and that at least some effort ought to be made. Hence her invitation to Emma to spend the first week of the vacation at the Pembroke home.

CHAPTER II

A BEGINNING

“Emma,” said Nancy suddenly, after they were settled in bed some nights later, “why don’t you have your hair bobbed?”

Several days had passed, and nothing had yet been accomplished; and she did so want to pass her guest on to the other girls greatly improved.

“Why bother? I can twist it up in a couple of minutes,” replied Emma, only mildly interested.

“But I think it would be so much more becoming if it were short.”

“I’m not one to fuss about looking well. I’m so homely anyway that it doesn’t matter.”

There was something a bit pathetic about the admission, but it rather annoyed Nancy.

“That’s all nonsense!” she snapped. “It is everybody’s duty to look her best at all times.”

“How so?”

Emma, was obviously surprised at her vehemence.

“Because other people have to look at us; and because, too, it gives one poise and confidence, and therefore affects one’s accomplishments.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Well, for example. The day we had to give our dissertations in Economics class, I was scared positively green. The idea of getting up in front, and facing that big class of men and women, and talking for twenty minutes about Corn Laws simply petrified me. So I took extra pains with my toilet that morning, used my favorite soap, bath salts, and powder; and put on my blue crêpe which I like a heap. I felt just fine, and knew that I looked well; and that gave me confidence. Confidence in its turn made me do well with the dissertation. I don’t mean by that that just dressing up without knowing anything would have enabled me to put the dissertation over; but being pretty well prepared, and being conscious of looking well, worked together. Do you see?”

“Why, I guess so; but you do an awful lot of fussing over yourself, Nan.”

“No, I really don’t, Emma. I simply make an effort to live up to all the modern ideas of health and cleanliness, and to have as good clothes as I can afford; and take care of them. That is what every girl in our crowd does.”

“I read a story the other day,” Nancy continued, after a pause during which Emma was apparently doing some thinking, “about a girl in some college or other who had a special gift for making people look their best; and she worked up a regular business. The girls were glad to pay her for helping them choose clothes especially suited to their individual types, and to advise them concerning their style of hairdressing, as well as the question of manicures, powders, perfumes, etc.”

“What a funny business,” was Emma’s sole comment. Obviously she was somewhat bored, and anxious to go to sleep.

“Seriously, Emma,” went on Nancy, almost in desperation—wasn’t it possible to make a dent on this girl at all?—“if you can afford to spend a little, why don’t you get all fixed up this summer and create a sensation when you go back to college in the fall?”

“Create a sensation.” That was a clever idea. Nancy had quite unconsciously hit upon a phase of the situation which was most likely to make an impression on her indifferent protégée. Emma had always been eager to attract the attention of her fellow students, even if she could not secure their affection. Her own methods had proved a complete failure. No harm to try someone else’s now.

“It would be fun,” she answered, showing more than a spark of interest. “And I can afford it all right.”

“Then let’s do it!” urged Nancy. “We’ll begin right away to-morrow. Janie and I shall just love helping you; that is, if you will let us,” she added somewhat doubtfully. She mustn’t go too fast.

“Oh, I shall. Now I’ve decided upon such a course, I’ll let you manage everything. You two know more about such things than I do.”

“I can hardly wait for morning!” cried Nancy enthusiastically some minutes later, as they settled down for sleep.

“Moms, we’re going downtown this morning,” said Nancy at the breakfast table.

She had already telephoned Jeanette the good news, and secured a promise of her company for the day.

“We have a lot to do,” she went on; “and if you don’t mind, I think we’ll have lunch at Sloan’s.”

“Of course, I don’t mind in the least. But you are not going to buy your fall outfit so early, I hope.”

“No,” laughed Nancy. “I need a summer one first; but I want to talk over my wardrobe with you first. Emma is going to do the shopping to-day——”

“Don’t tell her! Don’t tell her!” begged Emma. “Let’s surprise her.”

“All right,” agreed Nancy, as they arose from the table. “Hurry and get ready. I told Janie we’d stop for her at half-past eight, and it’s twenty after now.”

It was a little after eight thirty when the three girls turned out of the Grant yard, and headed for the near-by car line. The car was crowded, and they could not get seats together; so there was no further opportunity for conversation until they got off on Main Street.

“Where first?” inquired Jeanette.

“To the Salon of Monsieur Louis. We haven’t any appointment; but he is rarely busy so early as this, and I am in hopes he will attend to us himself.”

“Bon jour, bon jour!” The little proprietor of the beauty parlor came toward them, rubbing his hands together as they entered his mauve and pink waiting room. “And what ees it that I may do for you ce matin?”

“This lady wants one of your marvelous hair cuts, Monsieur,” said Nancy, drawing Emma forward; “and then a permanent.”

“Oui, oui; in here plees.”

He settled her in one of the little booths, and proceeded to give her a most fashionable cut, after studying her from all angles.

Nancy had been somewhat afraid that Emma would protest against the discomfort involved in obtaining a permanent wave; but she sat rigid, and, for once, quite speechless.

“She looks scared,” commented Jeanette, peering in from the waiting room where she and Nancy sat completing the day’s plans.

“She probably is,” said Nancy emphatically. “I know I felt almost afraid to breathe when I was having my first one. I believe I thought I might be electrocuted when the current was turned on.”

“I hope her head looks well; so we can make a fuss over it and encourage her to go on with the making-over process. Don’t you?”

“I certainly do; but I think she’ll go on all right,” replied Nancy. “It is hard trying to undo the habits of years in so short a time. The buying of new clothes is fairly simple, but getting her to take proper care of them, and making her see that daily baths, frequent manicures, and the use of various creams and powders are essential—that is an entirely different matter. Sometimes when I see her attitude, I feel quite hopeless, and wonder if we shall ever accomplish anything.”

“Poor Nancy!” said Jeanette.

A little later Jeanette commented, “Her table manners are not bad——”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Nancy fervently.

“But she laughs so loudly,” went on Jeanette, “and tries to be so demonstrative with people, even when she is not very well acquainted with them, that it is, well, embarrassing, to say the least.”

“I know it,” agreed Nancy; “and she is really very careless about putting away her various belongings. I can readily understand why her things always look so—so bedraggled! I’m not talking about her to be mean, but I am trying to pick out the habits that are different from those of other nice girls so we can concentrate on them.”

At last the dryer completed its work, and after a few finishing touches by Monsieur Louis, Emma was released.

“Oh, Emma, it’s lovely!” cried Nancy in genuine admiration, as she came out and stood before them. “What a difference it makes; doesn’t it, Janie?”

“It certainly does,” agreed Jeanette. “The style suits you perfectly.”

How glad Jeanette was that she could make the statement honestly!

“Don’t you like it, Emma?” asked Nancy anxiously; for the girl was unnaturally quiet.

“Yes, I think so. But to tell the truth, I feel a little dazed.”

“Oh, that’s part of the process,” said Nancy, relieved. “It comes from being under the dryer so long. The noise combined with the heat is rather stupefying. You’ll wake up when we get out into the air.”

Monsieur Louis bowed them out, and they hurried toward the elevator.

“I think we had better have lunch now,” said Nancy, when they were once more on Main Street. “Shall we go to Sloan’s, Janie?”

“It is as good as any other place near by; and then we’ll be right in the building where we intend to do most of our shopping.”

Soon they were seated in the big tea room, with menus in front of them.

“This is my party,” announced Emma.

“Janie and I usually go ‘Dutch,’” said Nancy; “but you are our guest this time.”

“You can go ‘Dutch’ any other time you like,” replied Emma; “but even though I am your guest, this lunch is on me—a sort of celebration.”

While they ate they made out a list of exactly what Emma needed, which was pretty much a complete outfit.

“But we can never do all this in one day,” said Janie, looking in dismay at the long list.

“Well, there are lots of days coming,” said Nancy, laughing. “We’ll go as far as we can to-day, and then ‘continue it in our next’ like the serial stories.”

“Nan, dear,” protested Jeanette, gently, “don’t laugh quite so loudly.”

Nancy looked up in astonishment, for her laughter had been perfectly modulated. Jeanette looked at her intently for a moment; then she understood.

“You’re right, Janie,” she said. “I should have been more careful.”

“Why, what’s the difference?” demanded Emma in a puzzled tone.

“Good breeding forbids a loud laugh anywhere, but most of all in a public place,” explained Jeanette.

“It does not harm anyone,” persisted Emma.

“Only one’s self. A real lady tries not to attract attention or make herself conspicuous,” said Jeanette patiently. “Loud laughing or talking is not good form, in public places especially.”

“And you see,” went on Nancy, “Janie and I know each other so well that we are quite at liberty to offer corrections when they seem in order. We agreed to that many years ago. The people we are with see many of our faults which we are unconscious of; and it helps a lot to have someone who really cares, tell us about them.”

Emma said no more on the subject; but the girls noticed after that a tendency to lower her voice and check her laughter. Nancy and Jeanette had been early trained to buy wisely and well, and knew good values as well as up-to-the-minute styles. All the rest of the day was spent in obtaining a coat, a couple of hats, gloves, and footwear.

“To-morrow,” said Nancy, when they were riding home, “we’ll go down again and get underwear and dresses—I just love to buy dresses!”

“Then next day,” added Jeanette, “Emma can have a manicure, and get a bag and the other things that we’ve forgotten; then she’ll be all fixed, outside.”

“Outside?” repeated Emma, somewhat puzzled.

“Well, you see,” replied Nancy lightly, “there are various personal and social customs which should go with a lovely wardrobe like yours; and you’ll want to adopt them, I’m sure. Janie is awfully good at that sort of thing, and you’ll learn lots when you are with her.”

“That’s so! My visit at your house is nearly over. I’ve had such a lovely time that I hate to leave; though, of course, I’m glad to stay with the rest of the girls too.”

The remainder of that week and the next passed more quickly than the girls had thought possible. They had just seen Emma off on the night train, which would get her to Plattsburg early the following morning, where Ethel King would meet her and drive her to the King cottage on the shore of Lake Champlain.

“Well, Janie?” said Nancy, as they came out of the station.

“Well, Nancy?” replied Jeanette.

“It’s over.”

“Yes; and how much of an impression do you suppose we’ve made—lasting impression, I mean?”

“A decided one, I think. You, poor dear, had a harder time than I did.”

“Why?” asked Jeanette, in surprise.

“Because you had to be a kind of habits-and-manners instructor, while I was only a costumer.”

“Oh; but Mother helped me a lot. She was very lovely to Emma, and really did much for her. Mother is so tactful, you know.”

“Yes; and she is something like Miss Ashton in her affection for and interest in young girls; isn’t she?”

“Something; even more so, I think, since Georgia disappeared.”

Georgia Crane was a girl whom Nancy and Jeanette had met under rather odd circumstances during their Sophomore year at Roxford. After a time she had gone to board with Mrs. Grant, who mothered her very much as she did her own daughter. Due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, Georgia left their house one night, without their knowledge, and, despite their efforts to find her, had never been heard of since.

“I wish I knew where she is.”

“So do I. Do you suppose she will ever come back?”

“I doubt it; but I feel quite sure that we shall hear from her or run across her sometime; probably when we least expect it.”

“Now for our own shopping, and preparations for our trip.”

“I’m just crazy to go!”

Nancy gave vent to her pleasant anticipation by dancing a few steps, to the great disapproval of the man in front of her, upon whose heels she trod.

“We had a letter from Miss Ashton to-day,” said Jeanette, when they had stopped giggling over the look the man gave Nancy.

“And what did she say?” asked Nan eagerly.

“She has engaged a stateroom on one of the boats from Boston to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, for the tenth of August. Madelon has gone back to Beaupre for a couple of weeks——”

“What for?” interrupted Nancy, in disgust.

“Her foster mother is ill; and, since her daughter has married and gone to live at Batiscan, she is lonely. Madelon could not withstand her appeal for a short visit.”

“She was ready enough to get rid of Madelon when she didn’t need her!” said Nancy, vehemently. Then she added, “But, of course, she doubtless did do a lot for Madelon when she was little; and I do admire her for going back, in spite of the way she treated her in later years.”

“Well, anyhow,” continued Jeanette, “Madelon will be back in Boston about the first of August; and Miss Ashton suggested that we go down about that time, or a few days later, so as to have a little time to look about Boston before we sail.”

“‘Sail!’ Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“But don’t get your hopes of the trip up too high, Nan; that is, the ocean part of it. I understand it is often quite rough; so there is quite a possibility of being sick.”

“Oh, Janie, be an optimist! I read recently that seasickness is nothing more than a condition of the mind. We just won’t be sick.”

“Coming in?” asked Jeanette, as they passed in front of her house, which they reached at that point in their discussion.

“No, not to-night. I’m going home and visit with Mother and Dad. I have hardly seen them alone since our guest arrived.”

“All right. I’ll see you sometime to-morrow, then.”

“Yes; and we’ll make a list of what we are going to need for our travels.”

CHAPTER III

BON VOYAGE

“There is one thing I must have,” decreed Nancy, a few days later, as she and Jeanette were setting out on one of their frequent shopping excursions.

“What’s that?”

“A new suitcase.”

“But Nan,” objected Jeanette, “you bought one when we went to New Orleans!”

“I know it; and when I got home from college this June, someone had kindly put a hole right through the side of it. Under the circumstances, even a person as economically-minded as you are, must admit that I can’t carry a suitcase in such a condition. I saw a new kind advertised the other day, called a wardrobe suitcase; and I thought we’d go to Leonard’s now and look at one. Dad said he would buy it for me as a sort of going-away present, if it doesn’t cost too much.”

Before long they were in the luggage store, listening to the persuasive voice of the salesman, who was enlarging on the advantages of that particular type of suitcase.

“It is lovely,” agreed Jeanette, as Nancy exclaimed over the little compartment for shoes, and a larger one for hats and underwear.

“And you see,” continued the clerk, “this rod in the cover lifts out so you can hang several dresses on it, by folding them once; then you put the rod back, press it in, snap these elastic bands across, and your clothing will come out without a wrinkle.”

The price of the suitcase was not prohibitive, since a special sale was going on; so Nancy bought it, and left it to be marked.

“Now where?” asked Jeanette.

“Dresses at Sloan’s. I’ll have to get some kind of a cool silk to travel in.”

“And I must buy a silk hat.”

“I wanted a new formal gown,” continued Nancy; “but Mother convinced me that it would be better to take the rose chiffon and the cream lace that I had at college, and get new evening dresses before we go back for our Senior year.”

“That’s what my mother said too; so my blue and silver georgette and my flowered chiffon will keep company with yours. At least they will feel at home together. What about sports clothes?”

“I’m to get material for two dresses to-day; and Mother is going to make them. I want a white crêpe de chine, and a blue something or other.”

“I hope you find the blue without any difficulty,” laughed Jeanette. “I am going to use the red and white printed silk that I had last year, and buy a white ‘something or other.’”

“Then we both have pleated skirts and sweaters for the boat, and I’m going to stick in my printed crêpe. Why don’t you take yours too?”

“They would be awfully handy for filling in, even if they are old,” admitted Jeanette. “Anyway, they look well; so no one but you and me will know that they’re not new.”

“Mother thought that would be plenty to take in the line of dresses. I’ll wear my travel coat, of course, and put the white flannel in my new wardrobe suitcase.”

“How proudly you say that!”

“We really could manage better if we took one trunk, as we did to New Orleans——”

“Yes, but Miss Ashton thought that since we’d be moving about so much in Nova Scotia, it would be much better to take just suitcases; and, she added, as few as possible.”

“Have you heard anything more from her? This is the first of August.”

“No, we haven't. Perhaps there will be some word when I get home.”

After dinner that evening, the Grant family strolled down to the Pembroke home.

“Oh, come in, come in,” said Mr. Pembroke, holding open the screen door. “I was very late in getting home, and we’re still at table; but you won’t mind coming out into the dining room.”

“And you’re just in time to have dessert with us,” said Mrs. Pembroke, making room for them at the table.

“But we’ve had our dinner,” protested Mrs. Grant.

“Even so, you can surely eat some lemon sherbet,” said Nancy. “Mother made heaps of it to-day.”

“I never could refuse sherbet,” sighed Jeanette. “I just love it.”

Nothing was said about their real errand until the sherbet was finished, and they had all gathered on the wide front porch where the moon, shining through the vines, made a leafy pattern on the floor.

“We heard from Lois to-day,” began Mrs. Grant.

“We’re not going!” thought Nancy, quick to detect the reluctant note in her voice.

“Things are not going to work out quite the way she hoped,” went on Jeanette’s mother. “Madelon, poor child, feels that she can not possibly leave her foster mother this summer——”

“How is that?” asked Mrs. Pembroke.

“It seems that the woman is laid up with an attack of rheumatism, and has no one to take care of her——”

“But where is her husband?” interrupted Nancy.

“He has to work in the fields, getting in the winter crops; so she is alone all day long,” replied Mrs. Grant. “Madelon wrote Lois that she herself is terribly disappointed at having to give up the Nova Scotia trip, but since her foster mother was so very good to her when she was little, she really felt it would not be right to leave her in this emergency. And I’m afraid we shall all have to admit that she is right.”

“The poor child!” murmured Mrs. Pembroke.

“Yes, I feel very sorry for her, especially since I imagine, from what Lois says, that her patient is very impatient.”

“However,” continued Mrs. Grant briskly, after a few minutes’ silence, “we cannot help Madelon by giving up our own plans. Lois suggests that the girls ask one of their friends to take Madelon’s place, since there are two staterooms reserved——”

“Martha!” cried Nancy and Jeanette in one breath.

“Let’s wire her right away!” exclaimed Nancy, jumping up.

“Just a minute,” protested Mrs. Grant, catching hold of Nancy’s arm. “Lois is unfortunately out on a case, and will be able to get off only in time to meet you girls at the boat. She closed the apartment for the rest of the summer, before she left, thinking that Madelon would be back to entertain you; but——”

“Oh, that’s all right; we can go to a hotel,” interrupted Nancy.

“Is it necessary to stay overnight in Boston?” inquired Mrs. Pembroke, anxiously.

“Is is if they go down by day,” replied her husband.

“And we want to,” said Nancy quickly. “I hate to travel at night. You never sleep well, and you don’t see a thing!”

“It will be all right,” said Mr. Grant. “They will have to learn how to look after themselves sometime. Why not begin now?”

“Good for you!” cried Nancy. “One would think we had never gone anywhere alone. Remember the Rideau? And way down to New Orleans? And we didn’t get into any difficulties. We may stay at the hotel overnight; mayn’t we, Moms?”

“If the rest of you are satisfied, I suppose so,” replied her mother, somewhat reluctantly.

“Under the circumstances,” said Mrs. Grant, “I thought it would be better to omit the sight-seeing trip, and go down on Saturday. The boat sails Sunday afternoon. Perhaps when you get back, Lois will be able to go about the city with you,” she added, seeing the disappointed looks on the faces of both girls.

“Come on, Janie, help me wire Martha now that we have full particulars to give her,” urged Nancy.

“Let’s write a letter, so we can tell her everything. If we put a special delivery stamp on it, and run downtown to mail it, she’ll get it in the morning.”

This was done; and the nest day a wire arrived from Martha, reading

GLORIOUS MEET YOU AT SOUTH STATION BOSTON SEVEN THIRTY P M AUGUST TENTH

So busy were the girls during the next few days that time simply raced along; and almost before they realized it, they were on the train bound for Boston.

“We’ve chased around so constantly for the past week,” said Nancy, when the yards were left behind and the train began to speed up, “that I’m dead.”

“So am I. Those last two parties nearly finished me.”

“Imagine, having one last night and one the night before! It is awfully nice of people to entertain for us, but shouldn’t you think that they would know we’d be too busy for such things?”

“Yes; but since they were given especially for us, we could hardly do other than go.”

“No-o-o,” yawned Nancy. “But I’m going to make up a little sleep between here and Albany. We’ve seen this road before. Then when we get to the Berkshires, I’ll be all rested and be able to enjoy them.”

The day passed quickly and quietly, for the girls were really very, tired. But riding on a good train is soothing; so when they came to a stop in the big South Station, they felt equal to anything. Close to the main entrance to the waiting room, they spied Martha; and the three fell upon one another regardless of the crowd hurrying in both directions. In a short time they were in their rooms at the hotel—a single and a double, with a bath between.

“Let’s get something to eat before we unpack and go to bed,” proposed Nancy. “We had so much sweet stuff on the train, that I feel the need of hot muffins and tea. And I do hope they have toasted English muffins here. I just love ’em with nice, hot, Orange Pekoe tea, with a thick slice of lemon floating around in it.”

“I want a club sandwich,” declared Martha, as they seated themselves at a small table in the café of the hotel.

“I’m going to order chicken bouillon and rolls,” decided Jeanette. “Isn’t it funny, no matter how much we like sweets, it is so easy to tire of them?”

They went out for a little walk, and then went to their rooms, after which each of the girls wrote a short note home letting their people know that they had “arrived safely.”

“Now, I’ll unpack both cases, while you take a bath, Janie,” said Nancy. “Then, while I bathe, you can put the clothes away.”

Jeanette shut herself in the bathroom, but presently Nancy came to the door.

“Janie, do you know where the key to my suitcase is?”

“No. You put it in your bag when we left home; and if it isn’t there, then I don’t know where it is.”

“Well, it isn’t there.”

“Look again, Nanny,” advised Jeanette; for Nan was always losing things, and then discovering them in some odd corner. When she came out of the bathroom, however, a distressed, pale-faced Nancy was bending over the contents of her bag, which she had turned out on the dresser.

“I’ve looked everywhere, Janie; and it simply isn’t anywhere. I must have pulled it out of my bag with a handkerchief, or tickets, or something, and lost it. What shall I do?”

“It’s lucky you put your night things in with mine, so you can get along without your case to-night.”

Jeanette was carrying a hat box, besides her suitcase; and the girls had used it in common, so as not to have to unpack everything at each stop.

“Yes,” wailed Nancy, “but I haven’t a dress to wear to church to-morrow; or a hat.”

“Well, we’ll try to have it opened; but if we can’t, you’ll just have to wear what you wore to-day,” replied Jeanette, going to the telephone.

The hotel locksmith came up; and, after working for some time, he said that much as he hated to do it, he’d have to force the locks.

“And don’t close that,” he advised them on leaving the room, “until you are sure you want it closed; for it may lock again.”

By that time it was nearly midnight; and the girls fell asleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows.

The following morning was spent in going to church, and wandering about the streets near the hotel.

“I wish we could take a ride somewhere,” said Nancy, looking longingly at the big sight-seeing busses which were rolling in all directions.

“So do I; but we might not get back in time to sail,” replied Jeanette. “It is nearly lunch time now; and you know we were going to get on board early. Miss Ashton is to meet us there an hour before sailing time.”

“Curtis wrote me,” observed Nancy, as they reentered their hotel, “to have a very light, simple lunch; and to go easy on the first meal on shipboard.”

“Why?” demanded Martha. “Does he think you ought to go on a diet?”

“No, goose; so we’d be less likely to be sick. He didn’t mean just me; he meant all of us.”

“Well, grateful as I am for his advice, I’m starved; and I’m going to eat.”

“All right, Mart,” laughed Nancy; “but don’t say that you weren’t warned.”

The luncheon menu was very attractive; but Nancy and Jeanette sternly repressed their desires for a quantity of rich food. They ate simple things, and ate them sparingly.

Immediately after luncheon they packed; and as Nancy closed her suitcase, sure enough, it locked!

“Don’t worry,” advised Jeanette. “You won’t need it on the steamer; and somebody in Nova Scotia will be able to open it. Anyway, you couldn’t have carried it about with you with the lid open.”

“But the customs!”

“Let the customs officer open it. He’ll have all kinds of keys.”

“But he’ll think I’m smuggling in Heaven knows what.”

“Then it’ll be a good joke on him when he doesn’t find anything,” chimed in Martha. “You should worry.”

On the dock, Miss Ashton was waiting for them; and after greetings were over, they gave their luggage to a porter. After going through several passages, sheds, and gates, they finally went up the gangplank, and on board.

Their two staterooms were nearly opposite each other, on the main deck.

“Who is going to be my partner?” inquired Miss Ashton, looking at the three girls.

“I, if you want me,” replied Martha. “It would be a crime to separate the two inseparables.”

“That was nice of Mart,” whispered Nancy, as they entered their stateroom, and put things in order.

“We must go up on the promenade deck, girls,” called Miss Ashton presently, “and get our chairs placed where we want them. The crowds will soon be coming on board, and the desirable places will all be taken.”

They decided on the right side of the steamer, near an enclosed portion of the deck, which would help keep off some of the wind.

“We’d better each have a rug, too,” said Miss Ashton, to the deck steward, who was putting tags on the chairs.

“What are those for?” asked Martha.

“Your stateroom number is on the tag; and no one but the holder of that room can use the chair. There is no danger, then, of finding it occupied when you come back from a stroll.”

The girls walked about in the sunshine, inspecting the boat and their fellow passengers, and looking at Boston, spread out along the water front.

Down at the purser’s office was the usual crowd trying to straighten out reservations; to get a better stateroom, or to get some kind of accommodations when there were no more to be had. Women with small children wandered aimlessly about the steamer, or found cozy corners in which to settle down. Many of the passengers watched from the port side while dozens of automobiles were put on board. A small baby cooed delightedly over its bottle, as it lay on a settee in the salon, blissfully oblivious of the noise and confusion all about.

Soon came the cry—“All ashore who are going ashore!”

Passengers bade good-bye to friends and relatives who had accompanied them on board. The great cables were released, the gangplank was pulled in, and the steamer began to move slowly and majestically away from the wharf.

CHAPTER IV

ON THE HIGH SEAS

“Oh!” cried Martha, when the steamer was well away from Boston, and headed northward, “I’m frozen!”

“Spread your rug over the chair; then sit down and fold the sides over you,” directed Miss Ashton. “You’ll be much warmer that way.”

They all followed her advice, and lay cozily watching the sunset; while the deck trotters paced back and forth in front of them.

“First call for dinner!” called a colored porter, passing along the deck, and accompanying his words by strokes on a brass gong.

“How about it?” asked Martha. “I’m hungry.”

“Go down if you like, Mart,” replied Nancy. “Jeanette and I are going to stay right here.”

“Right here! And not eat at all?” gasped Martha.

“A bit later the steward will bring us some sandwiches and ginger ale.”

“Ginger ale in this cold wind!” exclaimed Martha. “You’d better have it heated.”

Nancy laughed. “An old Frenchman up in Canada told us that if we’d drink ginger ale on shipboard, we’d never be seasick; and we’re going to try it out.”

“I’ll go down with you, Martha,” said Miss Ashton, getting up and throwing her rug over Nancy and Jeanette, who were shivering in spite of their own heavy ones. “I’m a good sailor; so nothing bothers me.”

The wind increased, and the ocean got choppy as soon as it grew dark; so the girls had their chairs moved into the enclosed deck, but near the door so they had plenty of ocean air.

“How do you feel, Nan?” asked Jeanette a bit anxiously, after they had finished their simple lunch.

“Mighty dizzy if I sit up; but deliciously comfortable as long as I lie back quietly. I feel as if I could stay here for hours.”

“That is the way with me, too.”

Some time later Miss Ashton came out on deck, and she was alone.

“Martha has succumbed,” she said, in reply to the girls’ questions. “The motion is much more noticeable in the dining room, and that, combined with the odor of food, about finished her. I put her to bed, and left her in the care of our stewardess. She’ll be all right soon, and will probably go to sleep.”

“Poor old Mart!” commented Nancy. “If she’d only stayed out of the dining room. But if she had,” she added, “then we would have been certain that she was already sick. Mart likes to eat even more than I do.”

The pacers of the deck increased in number, and soon there was a regular procession of people trying to see how many times they could encircle the ship. It was interesting to watch the different gaits. Some walked so well, with a free, rhythmic swing, as if thoroughly accustomed to the exercise, and enjoying it. Others, apparently, were doing it because they thought it was “the thing to do,”—and were making pretty hard work out of it.

“I’m walking all the way to Yarmouth,” panted a fat man, on his sixth round. The next time the parade passed in front of the trio, he was missing.

“I suppose he has collapsed somewhere,” said Jeanette.

“Who will be missing when they pass again?” wondered Nancy. “I bet it will be the pretty little girl with the brown curls.”

It was. From this point on the walkers dropped out rapidly, and finally only three girls of about Nancy’s age remained.

“I’m going to follow them and see how they do it,” exclaimed a boy of about fourteen, springing up from a near-by chair, and pacing after the girls, imitating exactly their long strides and swinging arms. On his return, he dropped exhausted into his chair, without volunteering any information to the amused spectators. The three girls continued to pass by regularly. The motion of the boat did not seem to disturb them at all; they appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.

“Let’s go to bed,” proposed Jeanette, suddenly.

“Not a bad idea,” replied Nancy, getting up so quickly that she lost her balance and fell back into her chair. “My, but I’m dizzy!”

With Miss Ashton’s help she finally managed to get on her feet again. By this time the motion of the boat was very pronounced, and walking was a difficult business. But the girls managed, by clinging to each other with one hand, and to various railings and door frames with the other, to get safely down to their stateroom. There the motion was a bit less noticeable; so they had no difficulty in preparing for bed.

The fresh salt air had made them very sleepy, and they knew nothing more until the ship’s whistle began to blow at regular intervals.

“What do you suppose is the matter now, Janie?” Nancy asked anxiously.

“Fog, I imagine,” replied Jeanette sleepily.

“Had we better get up and dress?”

“What time is it?”

“About half-past two.”

“Goodness, no! Go to sleep again. If there is any danger, the big gong will be sounded.”

“How do you know? Who told you about that?”

“Sign—downstairs,” and Jeanette was fast asleep, while Nancy thought of all the stories she had ever read which dealt with the horrors of ships caught in the fogs. But after a while she too went to sleep again.

The whistle was still blowing when they got up at six o’clock, although the steamer was anchored—somewhere.

“When do we get in?” asked Nancy of a porter who passed their door just as she was peering out.

“Soon as the fog lifts, madam, whenever that is. We’re in the harbor now.”

Miss Ashton and a pale-faced Martha appeared at that moment, and they all went to the dining room. While they were having breakfast, the fog lifted, and the sun crept out rather cautiously. Then the excitement of disembarking began.

Passengers surged in all directions. The ship’s officers and crew were everywhere. Baggage was piled along the corridors, and people stumbled over it at almost every step.

Nancy had explained their locked suitcase to their porter, who promised to do his best to get it through the customs. While they were waiting for him in the big shed where the baggage was spread out on large tables for inspection by the customs officials, Nancy spied, on a table directly in front of them, a suitcase very much like her own.

“I wish I could get hold of the key to that,” she exclaimed, pointing the bag out to Jeanette.

“But I’m afraid you can’t.”

Their porter joined them at that moment, and they went quickly out onto the wharf and over to the train for Halifax, which was waiting near by. To this day they do not know how the porter got Nan’s suitcase through the customs, for it was still locked when they got onto the train.

“How funny!” exclaimed Martha, when she saw, instead of the regulation swinging chairs of a parlor car, big willow chairs upholstered in green velvet, but devoid of springs. These were not fastened to the floor in any way; so everybody placed hers as she pleased. As a result, walking down the aisle presented quite a problem.

When the train began to pull out, Nancy happened to glance across the aisle; and nearly fell out of her chair.

“Janie!” she whispered, “there is the very same suitcase we saw in the customs.”

Without waiting for a reply, she went across to the gray-haired woman who occupied the seat opposite hers.

“Pardon me, madam,” she said, a bit breathlessly, “but have you the key for that suitcase?”

“Why, yes,” replied the woman, in some surprise.

“And might I borrow it?” she asked, going on to tell the reason for her strange request.

The woman was only too glad to accommodate her, and was as pleased as the girls themselves when the key opened Nancy’s suitcase.

“Wasn’t that the strangest coincidence?” asked Nancy, as they settled back to enjoy the scenery; and they all agreed with her.

“No one but Nancy,” observed Jeanette, with a smile at her friend, “would have had the problem solved so easily. She is always getting into difficulties, and being taken out of them. Most of us would have gone through the country with our things safely locked in.”

“Now, girls,” said Miss Ashton, “what do you know about this country?”

“Very little,” replied Nancy, “except that the scene of Longfellow’s Evangeline is laid here. And I can readily see, even after the bit of the country we have passed, why he spoke of the ‘forest primeval.’ There is plenty of forest here all right.”

“I meant to look up some information before we started, but I didn’t have a minute,” said Jeanette.

“I vote that Miss Ashton tell us all we should know,” proposed Martha.

The motion was seconded, and passed unanimously; so they moved their chairs into a cozy group, and Miss Ashton produced a small map.

“As you can see,” she began, “Nova Scotia is a peninsula attached to that part of Canada called New Brunswick by a very narrow isthmus; it is only about ten feet wide. We landed down here at Yarmouth, on the southwestern coast, and this railroad follows the western and northern coast line over to Halifax, on the northeastern shore. The country was discovered about the year of 1000 by a Norseman from Iceland, called Leif the Lucky. He called it Marksland, and left it to a native tribe of Indians called Micmacs. There are supposed to be some remnants of the Micmacs still in the country.

“In 1497, John Cabot landed here, and claimed the country for England. Some years later, the French attempted settlements which were not permanent. About the year 1606, Champlain and some other Frenchmen founded Arcadia at Port Royal, which was later destroyed by the English. In 1629, James VI of Scotland gave the entire territory to a favorite of his for colonization, and called it New Scotland, or Nova Scotia. From that time on, the country was constantly handed back and forth from the French to the English; for both claimed it until 1710, when it fell permanently into the hands of Great Britain.”

“But where does the expulsion of the Acadians, as referred to by Longfellow, come in?” asked Nancy.

“Some of the French, after the destruction of Port Royal, had gathered in the village of Grand Pré, and gradually a prosperous and even wealthy settlement grew up. Authorities are divided as to the question of their loyalty to the British government. Be that as it may, the English reached the conclusion that the community was a menace, and decided to deport the people and confiscate their lands. This was done in 1747. You might refresh your memories of the details by rereading Evangeline.”

“The Acadians came back again; didn’t they?” asked Jeanette.

“Yes; some years later, many of the survivors returned to settle on the shores of St. Mary’s Bay. We shall see the little Acadian villages on one of our bus trips.”

“The scenery is beautiful,” observed Jeanette. “So many lakes, bays, and rivers! Such quantities of white birch, and all kinds of pine trees.”

“It reminds me of the frequency with which the birch is mentioned in the ‘Anne’ books,” remarked Nancy.

“The ‘Anne’ books?” repeated Martha.

“Yes; Anne of Green Gables, and all the rest of them, by L. M. Montgomery. If you have never read them, your education has been neglected; and you should remedy the defect. I read the whole series over twice, and I think I could enjoy reading them again if there were not so many things to be read.”

“What rolling country it is,” remarked Miss Ashton a little later. “I have heard that there is scarcely a half mile stretch of level land; and there are two mountain ranges, one on the west coast, and one on the north.”

“The character of the country surprises me,” said Jeanette. “For no good reason at all, I have always pictured it as flat.”

At Digby, nearly all the travelers got out for ice cream cones.

“Now, Nan,” warned Jeanette, “you know your weakness for missing trains. Please don’t go too far.”

They were wandering back to the station, when Nancy’s eye was caught by some post cards attractively displayed in the window of a small store.

“Go on, Janie,”’ she said. “I’ll snatch just a couple of these and catch up with you.”

“But don’t stay a minute,” cautioned Jeanette, walking on. “It’s nearly time for the train to start.”

She boarded the train, but stood on the platform looking anxiously up the road.

The whistles blew, the bell rang, and the train began to get under way; but no Nancy. At that moment she was seen running down the street for dear life. Luckily for her, it was necessary at that point for the train to slow up to round a curve; and she succeeded in swinging herself onto the steps of the last car.

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay,” Jeanette cried, fairly shaking Nancy, when she finally reached the platform on which her friend was waiting. “You might have been killed, getting onto a moving train like that! You’re not going to get off ever again!”

“Poor Nannie,” said Martha, who had overheard the last words, “you won’t be able then to get off with us at Halifax.”

“Seriously, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, “you must be more careful. Suppose you had been left in that strange town in an unfamiliar country.”

For once, Nancy had no reply ready; for, to tell the truth, she had been more than a little frightened herself when she saw the train begin to move.

CHAPTER V

HALIFAX

“Halifax!” called the conductor; and everybody filed out of the train onto the platform, where all the baggage was piled on big trucks to be taken through the station and out to the taxicab entrance.

Martha was inclined to worry a bit about her two bags—she didn’t like to let them out of her sight; but Nancy and Jeanette, who had seen the same process in Chicago, assured her that she had no need for anxiety.

“Don’t you feel real important when you can say, ‘they did this or that in such and such a place’?” whispered Nancy to Jeanette as they followed the crowd to the exit at the end of the station, where the taxi platform was located. Jeanette admitted that she did.

At the outer edge of the platform was a railing over which leaned, facing them, a crowd of taxicab drivers, each shouting the name of the particular hotel he covered. It was a veritable bedlam, and nothing could be done but listen to it until the baggage was brought out.

“We had better have two cabs, I think,” said Miss Ashton, “on account of our numerous bags. Martha and I will take this one, and you two can follow in the next.”

The cab which came up to the steps immediately after she and Martha had driven off, was quickly claimed by another party; so the girls had to wait for the next. They signaled to one as it approached; but as soon as it drew up, a tall woman, who apparently sprang from nowhere, stepped out ahead of the girls and into the cab.

Jeanette ventured to remark, “We called this cab,” and the taxi men looked at one another and smiled. The girls hesitated; but the woman leaned forward and said to Nancy: “You are going to the Lord Nelson Hotel; aren’t you?”

“Why, yes——”

“Then we may as well go up together,” and she settled firmly back in the corner of the cab.

There was nothing else to be done; so Nancy got in, and Jeanette followed her.

The baggage was piled in front, and soon they were off up the steep streets leading to the hotel. The stranger, apparently an English woman, talked entertainingly of her trip across, the gifts which had been sent to her stateroom when she sailed, and of Halifax which she had not visited in several years. When they drew up at the hotel, which is opposite the beautiful Public Gardens, she paid her share of the charges, took her one smart-looking bag, and walked away down the street, murmuring something about taking a walk.

“Of all queer women!” observed Jeanette. “Why on earth doesn’t she go in and dispose of the bag?”

A boy took their bags up to the room which had been reserved for them; and as Nancy felt for her purse, she gasped a little and whispered to Jeanette, “You tip him.”

“Janie!” she exclaimed, as soon as the door was closed, “I’ve lost my purse. I didn’t look for it when we were getting out of the cab, because you paid our share; and now I haven’t it.”

“Was there much in it?”

“Oh, no; about $2.50, I think. You know I never keep much in it when we’re traveling.”

“But when did you have it last?”

“I know I had it when we were in the station.”

The girls looked at each other, their thoughts apparently traveling in the same direction.

“I do hate to suspect anybody,” said Nan, “but I am awfully suspicious of our queer-acting traveling companion.”

Martha and Miss Ashton entered just in time to hear the last words, and asked for an explanation.

“I’m afraid there is nothing to be done, Nancy,” said Miss Ashton, after hearing the story. “You are fortunate that there was not much in it.”

“Indeed I am; and I’m not going to worry about it. It is to avoid worry of that kind, that I carry so little money in my purse; then if it does get lost, it’s not especially important. What’s our immediate program?”

“Unpack, perhaps,” suggested their chaperon.

“If you don’t mind,” said Nancy, “I’d like to leave that until dinner time; and run out for a few minutes. We needn’t start to dress for an hour or so, and I should like to look around a bit. I never feel at home in a new place until I’ve had a walk.”

“It looks a lot like rain,” objected Jeanette; “and a fog is beginning to fall.”

“Well, we won’t go far; and we’ve been out in dampness before, Janie dear.”

So the three girls, after consulting some attractive souvenir advertisements in a folder, started out; while Miss Ashton remained to unpack, and rest a bit before dinner. They wandered along the street next to the hotel, stopping to look in various windows at amethysts, which were displayed in great profusion.

“I never saw so many amethysts in all my life,” said Martha. “Why do they make so much of them here?”

“Oh, the folder said that there is a mine of them at Cape Blomidon, and every tourist buys at least one. Look; there is a mass just as it was taken from the mine,” and Nancy pointed to a large piece, looking much like rock salt, except that it was lavender and the crystals were of varying sizes. For some minutes they rambled along, admiring the fine old English houses and estates.

“I think we had better turn back now,” proposed Jeanette. “It always takes longer to unpack and dress than one counts on; and I imagine Miss Ashton would like to get in for dinner a little early.”

“Just a minute,” begged Martha. “Let’s go just a little ways down this next street. Or you two go back if you want to; I’ll catch up with you.”

So they parted. Before the two girls got very far, it began to rain very heavily; and they discovered that Martha was carrying their one umbrella.

“Come on, Jeanette; we’ll have to run!” cried Nancy, catching her by the hand.

With several stops to rest, in sheltered doorways, they at last reached the hotel. By this time a dense fog shut down. The street lights, which had been turned on, looked like ghostly globes; and cabs and people were dim shapes.

“Where is Martha?” asked Miss Ashton, when they entered their rooms.

“I’m really rather worried about her,” added Jeanette, after they had explained.

“She’ll find her way back all right,” maintained Nancy. They were all anxious, however, when half an hour passed, and still no Martha. Miss Ashton was about to go down to the office for advice, when the girl rushed in; and Nancy and Jeanette plied her with all kinds of questions.

“I was all right,” she gasped, “until that blamed fog came up.”

“Came down,” corrected Nancy.

“I wandered about trying to find my way, and getting more and more lost every minute. Finally I ran into a man in uniform, and asked him to set me on my way. I thought he looked a bit familiar; and who was he but the purser from our steamer. He’s awfully nice, and he came all the way to the hotel with me!”

“Martha! Martha! I’ll certainly have to chaperon you more carefully,” laughed Miss Ashton. “However, all’s well that ends well. Now hurry, and dress for dinner. We didn’t have much on the train this noon; and I, for one, am hungry.”

After dinner they wandered about the hotel for an hour, and then went to bed.

“We must be up and ready to start at eight thirty,” was Miss Ashton’s good night instruction.

Promptly at that hour, they took their seats with a few other people in the roomy, comfortable bus.

“My name is James Jackson,” announced the conductor, as he checked up the list of passengers, “but most people call me ‘Jim.’”

Soon they were out of the city and on the open road leading to Chester and Bridgewater, on the southeastern coast. The roads ran up and down hills constantly, and around all kinds of curves, crossing and recrossing the railroad over which they had ridden the day before.

“This is heaps of fun!” cried Nancy, as they rolled down one particularly long slope. “It’s just like a great roller coaster. I hope there are lots of roads like this.”

“So many you’ll get tired of them,” commented the driver, without enthusiasm.

“No danger at all!”

A beautiful lake suddenly appeared on the right, and soon was left behind; then acres and acres of pasture land, dotted with cattle, stretched out on either side.

“Oh!” squealed Nancy suddenly. “Did you see that?”

“What?” inquired the others eagerly, looking back to see what they had missed.

“That tiny little black and white calf in the corner of that meadow. He was scratching his nose with his hind paw——”

A burst of laughter interrupted her.

“But he did,” she persisted, when she could make herself heard. “And it was too cute for anything!”

“It wasn’t that,” explained Jeanette, “it was because you called his hoof a paw.”

“Well, how should I know its proper name. I’m not a farmer, and don’t pretend to be.”

“I wonder if there is duty on calves,” commented Jeanette in mock seriousness. “Perhaps you would like to take the dear little fellow home with us, if the farmer would sell him.”

Everybody laughed; for Nancy was always wanting to “take home with her” all kinds of animals, and was prevented from maintaining a small zoo only by the fact that her family wouldn’t tolerate it.

The bus shot through the pine woods, and out again to roll smoothly along the edge of a large body of water.

“This is Mahone Bay,” said the driver; “and that island is Oak Island where Captain Kidd is supposed to have buried some of his treasure.”

“Oh,” cried Martha. “How I’d love to go out to it. Could we?”

“On the way back we stop here for lunch,” said the driver, as they entered the town of Chester. “Perhaps you could get some fisherman to take you out.”

“What do you expect to do there, Mart?” laughed Jeanette. “Find some of the treasure?”

“I might. Who knows? And wouldn’t I have the laugh on you if I did!”

“Look,” said Miss Ashton, as they stopped in front of the inn for a moment and the driver went in to give notice of the number of guests he would have stopping there for lunch, “that woman is doing her marketing with a pail instead of a basket.”

Sure enough a tall, thin woman, primly dressed in an old-fashioned looking garment of dull calico, was going from one store to another, and piling meat, groceries, fruit, and notions into a large tin pail which hung on her arm.

On the way to Bridgewater they ran in and out of fog constantly. Sometimes the air would be perfectly clear, and the sun shining brightly. Then suddenly the fog would shut down so heavily that they could hardly see to the edge of the beach.

“Isn’t this queer?” said Martha. “At home either we have fog or we don’t.”

“That’s the way it is here, too,” replied the driver, smiling over his shoulder at Nancy; and Martha could not understand why they all laughed. Then he went on to explain that it was because they changed “levels” so constantly, that they “had the fog” or “didn’t have it” in such rapid succession.

“This is Lunenburg,” he explained presently, as they ascended a hill into a small, prosperous-looking town. “It is famous for the building of deep-sea fishing vessels. Out there,” pointing to the expanse of water below them, “is the Lunenburg Harbor. There are some boats ready for use; some ready for the masts; and on the shore are others just begun. Notice that the prows are all painted blue; for they are known as ‘Bluenose Boats.’”

“I have heard that term so many times since we landed,” said Miss Ashton, “and I never heard it before. For example, the train we came on yesterday is called the ‘Bluenose Special.’ What is the origin, and significance?”

“The name dates back to the American Revolution,” explained Jim. “Certain families who were direct descendants of the Pilgrim Fathers emigrated to Nova Scotia during the war. These were known as Bluenose families; and the term came to be used more generally later on as a mark of high quality.”

On the way back to Chester they passed an enclosed wagon with two doors at the back. “That,” said Jim, “is a traveling store. It carries everything from crackers to kerosene.”

“How very funny!” exploded Martha, leaning out of the window a bit to get another look.

“Be careful,” warned Miss Ashton. “That is always dangerous.”

“She might fall out!” laughed Nancy.

“How could anyone fall out of the window!” Martha was indignant again.

“Many of the people of this country,” continued the driver, “live at great distances from stores; and as the automobile is not yet so common as it is in the States, they find it difficult to get to the towns to buy what they need.”

As they drove along, they passed another traveling store standing in front of a small house; and from it the proprietor was taking several garments on hangers.

“That fellow,” said the driver, “operates a ready-to-wear shop. Most of them do not limit their lines; they carry everything. He believes in specializing.”

“Wouldn’t it be convenient to have things brought in instead of having to go after them,” said Jeanette.

“Not for you, Janie,” laughed Nancy. “You’d need a whole procession of wagons. She goes through one store after another before she finds anything to suit her,” she explained to the driver.

On their return trip, they stopped at Chester for lunch at the Lovett House. It is one hundred and fifty years old, and has been in the hands of the family of the present owners for one hundred and two years. There are steps up into this room, and down into that one. The old wall paper is patterned in hunting scenes; and the whole house is filled with delightful, old-fashioned furniture. The side porch is built right around the trunk of an immense tree.

“Now for Captain Kidd’s island,” said Martha after lunch. “We can go; can’t we?” she appealed to the driver, as the girls laughed at her.

“I could get someone to take them out,” he replied, looking at Miss Ashton for assent.

“If you have time to indulge her whim,” she replied, “I have no objections to make.”

Before very long the girls and Miss Ashton were in a small launch manned by an old fisherman, and headed for Oak Island. It was a forlorn-looking spot when they reached it, much of it covered by trees and brush, and the rest of it holes of various shapes and depths.

“Apparently you’re not the first one who has entertained hopes of becoming wealthy, Mart,” said Nancy, peering into one immense excavation.

“I wouldn’t care so much about getting rich,” she replied, “if I could find even one coin to take home. Imagine, having even one souvenir from Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

“Of course, Mart,” said Jeanette practically, “it is not a certainty that he even buried any of it here.”

“Anyway, if at first you don’t succeed,” began Nancy, “you know the rest of it.”

They prowled around for about twenty minutes, and then wandered back toward the launch.

“Did you look into this hole, Mart?” asked Nancy, pointing to a wide, shallow one near by. “It doesn’t go very deep. This particular excavator lost heart early in the game.”

“No, I missed that.”

Martha went to inspect it, while the rest strolled on. A cry of delight and surprise from Martha made them turn suddenly. She was running toward them so eagerly that she did not see a twisted root in the path. Her foot caught in it, and down she went, rolling over and over down the slope to their very feet. They picked her up with anxious questions as to the extent of her injuries, trying hard not to laugh; for she had presented a very funny spectacle.

“I’m—all—right,” she gasped. “Don’t bother. But look.”

She opened one hand, which she had kept tightly closed in spite of her catastrophe. In the palm lay an earth-stained, blackened coin!

“I saw the edge of it sticking out from one side of the hole, and I could hardly believe my eyes when I pulled it out! Just think of my having been so very lucky!”

She could talk of nothing else for some time on the return trip, and the others tried to share her enthusiasm.

Jim examined the coin closely when they returned to the Lovett House, and then congratulated Martha on her good fortune. As he cleverly swung the big bus around the corner, and on the road out of Chester, he looked searchingly down at Nancy who was sitting beside him. She flushed a bit, but her eyes were dancing with mischief.

“What would you give to know?” she asked teasingly, in a low voice.

“Nothing!” he replied. “For I’m sure I have solved the problem.”

“How?”

“Two and two always make four. The first two is the fact that I once had a hobby of collecting coins, and I recognize many specimens; and I know that this one is not a part of the notorious Captain’s treasure.”

“And the other two?”

“That a certain person is fond of playing jokes.”

“I fear you know altogether too much.”

Jim laughed, but made no further comments. He did not always have such congenial people to “conduct”; and he was enjoying himself immensely.

“Gathering blueberries seems to be quite a business here,” observed Miss Ashton. “I have seen several old men and women with bowls, pitchers, or other containers; and many children with tin cups or pails.”

“It is,” answered Jim. “The people of all ages go out in berry season and gather all they can. A big truck makes the rounds of the scattered houses every day, and picks up the fruit. Most of it is then shipped from Yarmouth to Boston. The cargo of the steamer you go back on will be largely blueberries.”

“What are the winters like here?” inquired Miss Ashton. “Rather bleak, I should imagine.”

“They are really very much like Boston, except in the interior, where they get more snow, and farther up north, toward Truro, where it is considerably colder. The settlements, you will notice, are pretty much around the edge of the country; the center is still rather wild. And have you noticed the bundles of wood lying along the roadside?”

“Yes; and I have been wondering about them.”

“From time to time the people fell small trees, or find dry wood which they gather into bundles, and leave to be picked up ‘some day’ when they are passing with an empty cart. That is their winter’s supply.”

They were proceeding very slowly just then, as the road was more crooked than usual; and was upgrade.

“How——” began Miss Ashton, when a scream from Jeanette startled everyone.

“Martha has fallen out!” she cried.

Jim stopped the bus instantly. They looked back, and there sat Martha in the middle of the road, covered with dust, and wearing a most pathetically bewildered expression.

They all got out and ran back to assist her.

“What in the world happened?” inquired Nancy, brushing Martha off after Jim had set her on her feet.

“Happened!” exploded Martha. “Plain enough to be seen, I should think. I fell out!”

Everybody screamed with laughter.

“Yes, but——” began Nancy, and went off into another gale of merriment.

“Now please tell us just how you happened to fall, Martha,” said Miss Ashton, when they were all in the bus again, and on their way.

“I got awfully sleepy,” said Martha, rather sheepishly, “and I thought I’d go and sit in the back seat and take a little nap where nobody would disturb me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the road and the bus was going on without me. I did hope you’d discover that I was missing before you went very far.”

“But how on earth did you get out?” persisted Miss Ashton.

“That back door is almost never used, except in emergencies,” interrupted the driver. “It may not have been closed tightly; and she probably fell against it when she was asleep——”

“That was an emergency, all right,” commented Nancy.

“Now, Martha,” warned Jeanette, as they drew up before the hotel in Halifax, “you have had two falls. Do be careful during the rest of our trip.”

There was an hour to spare before it was time to dress for dinner, and the girls spent it wandering around the Public Gardens. A rambling stream, stone bridges, duck ponds filled with water fowl, immense trees, great flower beds of all shapes in which are blended, in striking color combinations, blossoms of all kinds, make it a most attractive place to spend hours; and the girls heartily regretted that time would not permit them to linger.

“But it is just as well we did not have any more time to walk about the gardens,” said Jeanette, as they were preparing for bed. “I am tired to death now.”

“I am too,” replied Nancy; “but I do hope that the bell buoy in the harbor does not keep me awake to-night. Even in my sleep I heard that monotonous ‘ding-dong’ last night.”

“Well, try to sleep anyhow,” advised Jeanette; “for to-morrow will be our biggest day——”

“Oh, yes,” cried Martha, “to-morrow we see Evangeline——”

Then, as a laugh interrupted her, she went on indignantly, “I don’t know why you all laugh every time I open my mouth. I’m not going to say another word!”

“Until next time,” called Nancy, as Martha went into her own room.

CHAPTER VI

THE LAND OF EVANGELINE

“We have an addition to our party to-day,” said Jim when they went out to the bus the following morning.

“Who?” inquired Nancy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bond, ardent collectors of antiques. They go only as far as Kentville, however.”

The newcomers proved to be a very interesting, middle-aged couple, full of information on many subjects besides their hobby, and a real asset on any sight-seeing trip.

“Isn’t it queer,” commented Nancy after they had ridden for a few miles, “how we are sort of on the outside trying to look in?”

“What on earth do you mean?” demanded Martha. “On the outside of what, looking in?”

“Why, it’s difficult to explain clearly; but we’re riding through this country peering at everything and trying to guess what the people are like from what we see. It is rather trying to complete a picture with many of the principal parts missing. If you know what I mean,” she laughed a little confusedly, seeing plainly from Martha’s expression that she, for one, didn’t know.

But the driver smiled understandingly at Nancy. He knew what she was trying to say. Long ere this she had discovered that Jim was a senior at Harvard, and drove a bus only during the summer vacation. He had been desperately lonely in this country, where he knew no one; and the pretty, lively college girl was a godsend.

“One thing we can be reasonably sure of,” commented Miss Ashton, “is their fondness for flowers. The front windows of so many of the houses are filled with plants, so arranged that the blossoms reach to the very top of the panes.”

“I’ve noticed that,” said Jeanette, “and in one house the cellar windows were also filled. Indoors they use mostly geraniums; and they seem to be splendid specimens. What a task it must be to attend to all those plants!”

“Even the poorest looking dwelling has its garden; and if there is a stump or unsightly rock, it is surrounded with nasturtiums,” said Mrs. Bond. “Those bits of bright color, dropped carelessly here and there, are very effective in this land of green trees and gray houses.”

“I wonder why all the houses are that peculiar dull gray,” said Martha. “They look positively ashen.”

“They are built of shingles and whitewashed,” explained Jim. “The whitewash wears off, and leaves the house a dirty gray. And, by the way, you will notice that many of the houses are shingled on one or two sides, and finished with clapboards on the others. Why, I don’t know, I’m sorry to say.”

“To return to the subject of flowers,” said Mrs. Bond, “we have been wondering if the people’s love of them is not a kind of a reflection of the land itself. I have never seen so many kinds and such quantities of wild flowers.”

“That is true,” agreed Miss Ashton. “We have been reveling especially in the profusion of wild roses along the roads.”

“They tell me,” said Jim, turning slightly toward Mrs. Bond, “that in the proper season there are such quantities of arbutus here, or Mayflower as some call it, that it has been adopted as the emblem of Nova Scotia, along with the motto, ‘We bloom amid the snows.’ It is gathered and sold in all public places; and everybody wears or carries some as long as it lasts. Every office, they say, every store, every house has its bouquet of arbutus.”

“What a pretty custom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bond.

“This is Windsor,” said the driver, as they entered a lovely town on the river Avon. “It was an Acadian village; and at Fort Edward, which was built after the country fell into the hands of the British, were drawn up the plans for the expulsion of the Acadians.”

They drove up the lovely wooded slopes where King’s College was established in 1787, and where it continued as the oldest colonial university in the British Empire until very recently, when it was removed to Halifax. A private school for boys still uses the original chapel for its religious exercises.

“A most famous judge of Nova Scotia, Thomas Haliburton by name,” went on the driver as they left the old buildings behind, “was also quite an author, under the nom de plume of Sam Slick. His best known book is called ‘The Clock Maker.’ It is regarded as a classic, and its humor is said to rival that of Dickens himself in the Pickwick Papers. This is his house, which we are approaching, and where he wrote his books. It is known as the ‘Sam Slick House’ and is open to the public.”

The party was met at the low porch (upon which was an old-fashioned scraper for removing mud from one’s shoes) by the hostess, a charming woman, who showed them through the house. The living room, into which the outside door opened, was paneled in oak halfway to the ceiling, and upon it were hung various old-fashioned articles.

“What is this for?” asked Nancy, examining a covered brass pan, at the end of a long wooden handle.

“That is a warming pan,” explained the hostess. “They used to put hot coals inside, and run the pan under the bedclothes a few times to take the chill off the sheets before one went to bed in severe weather. You know in those days there was no steam heat; and most bedrooms were entirely unheated.”

“And this, please?” asked Jeanette, fingering a metal plate which seemed to be double, with a small lip-like opening at one side.

“That? You put hot water in there,” pointing to the opening, “and set plates on it to keep warm.”

They gazed admiringly at the lovely gate-legged tables, fire screen, hunting prints, and numerous other treasures; and then, through a door at the back of the room, entered a narrow hall which ran across the width of the house. On the opposite side opened the dining room, where one may order refreshments, and the library where the judge’s bookcases and desk are still standing. The woodwork of the hall was all painted in the peculiar Acadian blue; and from either end of the hall, there was a staircase leading to the rooms of the second floor.

“The judge built this house himself,” said the hostess, as they crossed the oval rugs of braided blue and green straw, and went up the quaint narrow stairs, “and he thought the rooms upstairs should be entirely separate; so here are the ones on the right side of the house. But you will have to go down again, and up the stairs at the other end of the hall, to get to the rooms on the left of the house.”

“How very funny!” exclaimed Nancy, as they peered into the cretonne-hung rooms, with their casement windows opening into the very tree tops, their four-poster beds, and old-fashioned pictures. In one room, apparently occupied by some favored individual, there was a tiny air-tight stove.

“Here is something I didn’t notice when we came up,” said Mrs. Bond, stopping on the landing on their way down, before a tall grandfather’s clock.

The place was a veritable treasure trove for anyone interested in antiques, and she and her husband were just reveling in their finds, examining every article closely, and showing that their hobby was no mere pose. They had a genuine love for old things.

“And here is another kind,” said her husband, pointing to the opposite wall, where hung a big, round clock with heavy weights dangling from it.

“Now, that’s just the kind of clock I always imagined the mouse must have run up,” cried Nancy, “although I never saw one before.”

“The mouse?” repeated Martha, in a puzzled tone. “What mouse?”

Nancy laughed.

“Why the one in the old rhyme, ‘Hickery-dickory-dock; the mouse ran up the clock.’”

Mr. and Mrs. Bond exchanged glances of tolerant amusement. If there were many college girls like the ones in this party, modern college girls were not so bad after all.

“Here is a place we didn’t see,” said Miss Ashton, stepping into a small room with deep, orange-colored walls. “What a perfectly wonderful rug! Look here, girls!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Nancy, plopping down on the floor beside a magnificent white bearskin that was spread before a mammoth fireplace, and stroking the head delightedly.

“My nephew, who is a member of the Royal Mounted Police, shot the bear in the polar regions, and sent it to me,” said the hostess.

They could hardly get Nancy away from it, and it was with great reluctance that all of them left the attractive house and shaded lawns, where gay tables and striped umbrellas made one long for a cup of tea, even at ten o’clock in the morning.

“I’m going to get hold of the ‘Sam Slick’ books as soon as we get back,” asserted Nancy.

“Won’t it be fun to recognize the parts of the house mentioned in some of the books?” Jeanette agreed that it would, and notation was made of another thing to do “when they got home.”

“Just west of here,” said the driver, “on the edge of the Basin of Minas, lies the great marsh meadow known as Grand Pré. Minas opens into the Bay of Fundy, and is guarded by Cape Blomidon, both of which Longfellow mentions in his famous poem. You will notice the red mud flats on the banks of the river on this side of Nova Scotia,” he continued, as they drove across a quaint covered bridge. “They are all influenced by the famous double tides of the Bay of Fundy. Twice every twenty-four hours the tide, or ‘bore,’ as it is sometimes called, rushes into Fundy. The Avon River, for example, has a rise of thirty-four feet. When the tide is out, the river banks are a mass of red mud, veined by little trickles of water; when the tide comes in, with a mighty rush, all the banks are covered.”

They soon stopped before the little house guarding the Acadian Memorial Park, which is in the center of the old Acadian village immortalized by Longfellow. A descendant of the Acadians has charge of this little building, where a few souvenirs are sold, and where the services of a guide may be obtained. Standing in the doorway which opens into the park itself, one sees a vast stretch of meadow land, dotted with magnificent flower beds; a chapel, a statue, and a row of willows showing up in the distance.

“This,” said Mrs. Bond, who was elected to act as guide, since the young man who performed that office was busy with another party, “is the site of the meadows which the Acadians protected from the inroads of the sea with dikes, so built that at certain seasons enough water could be let in for irrigation purposes.”

Past beds containing flowers blended and contrasted as only the Nova Scotians know how to arrange them, our party finally stopped beside the stone well, known as “Evangeline’s well,” from which the inhabitants of the old village of Grand Pré obtained their water supply.

“Is there any water in it?” inquired Nancy, peering into its mossy depths, and gratified to see water not very far down.

“Be careful, Nan. Your purse!” cried Jeanette; but she spoke just too late. Nancy had laid it on the top of the curb a few minutes before, while Martha took a picture of them gathered about the well. She had neglected to pick it up again, and shoved it off when she leaned over the edge.

They heard a faint splash, and looked at one another in dismay; then Martha burst out laughing.

“I’m—really—terribly—sorry for you, Nan,” she said, “but you seem to be as unlucky with your pocketbook on this trip as I am with falls. We’ll have to beware of the fateful third time!”

“Was there much in it, Nan?” asked Jeanette.

“Oh, no,” said Nancy carelessly. “Just a couple of dollars. You know I’m always losing pocketbooks; so I never carry much in them. Anyway, it’s gone; and we’re not going to let it spoil our day.”

They wandered on to the small chapel of Norman architecture, built on the exact site of the original chapel of St. Charles, of which Longfellow says:

“And lo! with a summons sonorous

Sounded the bell from its tower,

And over the meadows a drum beat,

Thronged erelong was the church with men.”

In time, this little building is to house books, documents, and household articles of the French Acadians.

Halfway down the meadow, opposite the chapel, stands a bronze statue of an idealized Evangeline.

“This is the work of Henri Hebert,” said Mrs. Bond, “one of Canada’s foremost sculptors, and a direct descendant of the Grand Pré French.”

They all felt very serious as they gazed up at the rather sad figure, looking backward upon the land she loved so dearly; and then strolled down toward the row of willows which lined the street of Grand Pré. They then followed a narrow, winding stream to a pond upon which floated ducks among the lily pads.

“Do you suppose they’d let me pet them?” said Nancy, leaning down to touch one which seemed tamer than the rest.

“Be careful—” began Jeanette, just as Nan’s foot slipped on the grass, and she slid, headfirst, into the water, creating great consternation among the inhabitants of the pool, as well as among the spectators.

Nancy was a funny looking creature as she stepped from the pond, and Martha was once more overcome with laughter.

“You got the third fall, Nan,” she cried; “now I’ll have to lose the third pocketbook.”

“Don’t count on that!” retorted Nancy.

“Better watch your step just the same.”

“What in the world shall we do with you, Nan?” asked Jeanette, obviously worried.

“I’ll go back to the bus with her,” offered Miss Ashton, “and get her bag. Probably there is some place in the gatehouse where she can change her things. Fortunately, it is quite warm; so she is not likely to take cold in the meantime.”

They hurried on ahead, and the others followed in leisurely fashion, stopping often to examine the flowers. There were so many unusual kinds that the collection would have been a delight to any student of botany.

When they reached the bus, Nancy, in dry garments, was waiting for them. Jim stood near by, teasing her about her fondness for ducks; a fondness, he said, strong enough to induce her to seek their habitat.

“I know one thing,” said Martha, as they climbed into the bus, “I’m going to reread Evangeline as soon as I get home. It will be so much more interesting after seeing the place.”

CHAPTER VII

EN ROUTE TO DIGBY

“We still in the country of Evangeline,” said Jim, as they entered Wolfville, three miles beyond Grand Pré. “From here, one may sail across the Basin of Minas over the very course taken by the Acadians on their way into exile. Cape Blomidon’s purple head, thrust far out into the basin, acts as a barrier to fog and storm, thus keeping this region especially suitable for fruit raising. The Micmac Indians believe that Glooscap lives on Blomidon.”

“Glooscap?” inquired Nancy.

“A supernatural hero, something like the Grecian Hercules.”

“Oh! I wish we could see it!” cried Martha. “Who, the hero?” asked Jim.

“Of course not! I’m not so stupid. I mean Cape Blomidon. Then we could gather amethysts for ourselves.”

“Can’t you be satisfied with your souvenir of Captain Kidd?” asked Jim, with a sidewise glance at Nancy.

“Y—es. I suppose so.”

They lunched at Kentville, and bade a very reluctant farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Bond; then drove for miles through the famous orchard lands of the Annapolis and Cornwallis Valleys.

“The most celebrated apple district in the world,” said Jim, indicating with a wave of his hand the endless rows of trees beside the road, “though few people seem to know it. Here are raised many of the finest apples which we eat in the States, especially the Northern Spy.”

Past miles of orchards, and through many little towns they sped, until they reached Annapolis Royal.

“This is the old Port Royal, capital of French Acadia, and founded in 1604—the first permanent European settlement in America after St. Augustine,” said Jim. “Nova Scotia boasts of being first in several ways: The first mill was built here; the first conversion to Christianity took place here; the first Canadian song, written in honor of Champlain; the first play written and staged in North America; and last, but most interesting, the first social club.

“During the winter of 1606-7,” he went on, “Champlain instituted the ‘Order of the Good Time’ to which fifteen leading Frenchmen belonged. For a single day each member was hailed by the rest as Grand Master, and wore a splendid collar while he acted as host to the others. The Grand Master provided dinner and entertainment, and each man tried to surpass his predecessors. The old Indian chief was always an honored guest, and many of his tribe shared in the merrymaking. At the end, all smoked the pipe of peace. When the English captured the town, its name was changed to Annapolis Royal, in honor of Queen Anne.”

The bus rolled up the hill to the Park, which is on the site of the old ramparts of Fort Anne; and stopped before a long, quaint building, with three great chimneys.

“This was the officers’ quarters, built in 1798,” explained Jim; “and over on the other side of the Park you can see the remains of the powder magazine, and some of the fortifications, half buried in the embankment. There are thirty fireplaces in this building, and many rooms filled with curios well worth inspecting.”