Part 49 (1/2)

--_Tatler._

The next day Claudine's left eyelid trembled in Bidiane's direction.

The girl followed her to the pantry, where she heard, murmured over a pan of milk, ”They go to-night, as soon as it is dark,--Mirabelle Marie, Suretta, and Mosee-Delice.”

”Very well,” said Bidiane, curling her lip, ”we will go too.”

Accordingly, that evening, when Mirabelle Marie clapped her rakish hat on her head,--for nothing would induce her to wear a handkerchief,--and said that she was going to visit a sick neighbor, Bidiane demurely commended her thoughtfulness, and sent an affecting message to the invalid.

However, the mistress of the inn had no sooner disappeared than her younger helpmeets tied black handkerchiefs on their heads, and slipped out to the yard, each carrying a rolled-up sheet and a paper of pins.

With much suppressed laughter they glided up behind the barn, and struck across the fields to the station road. When half-way there, Bidiane felt something damp and cold touch her hand, and, with a start and a slight scream, discovered that her uncle's dog, Bastarache, in that way signified his wish to join the expedition.

”Come, then, good dog,” she said, in French, for he was a late acquisition and, having been brought up in the woods, understood no English, ”thou, too, shalt be a ghost.”

It was a dark, furiously windy night, for the hot gale that had been blowing over the Bay for three days was just about dying away with a fiercer display of energy than before.

The stars were out, but they did not give much light, and Bidiane and Claudine had only to stand a little aside from the road, under a group of spruces, in order to be completely hidden from the three women as they went tugging by. They had met at the corner, and, in no fear of discovery, for the night was most unpleasant and there were few people stirring, they trudged boldly on, screaming neighborhood news at the top of their voices, in order to be heard above the noise of the wind.

Bidiane and Claudine followed them at a safe distance. ”_Mon Dieu_, but Mirabelle Marie's fat legs will ache to-morrow,” said Claudine, ”she that walks so little.”

”If it were an honest errand that she was going on, she would have asked for the horse. As it is, she was ashamed to do so.”

The three women fairly galloped over the road to the station, for, at first, both tongues and heels were excited, and even Mirabelle Marie, although she was the only fat one of the party, managed to keep up with the others.

To Claudine, Bidiane, and the dog, the few miles to the station were a mere bagatelle. However, after crossing the railway track, they were obliged to go more slowly, for the three in front had begun to flag.

They also had stopped gossiping, and when an occasional wagon approached, they stepped into the bushes beside the road until it had pa.s.sed by.

The dog, in great wonderment of mind, chafed at the string that Bidiane took from her pocket and fastened around his neck. He scented his mistress on ahead, and did not understand why the two parties might not be amicably united.

A mile beyond the station, the three gold-seekers left the main road and plunged into a rough wood-track that led to the lake. Here the darkness was intense; the trees formed a thick screen overhead, through which only occasional glimpses of a narrow lane of stars could be obtained.

”This is terrible,” gasped Bidiane, as her foot struck a root; ”lift your feet high, Claudine.”

Claudine gave her a hand. She was almost hysterical from listening to the groaning on ahead. ”Since the day of my husband's death, I have not laughed so much,” she said, winking away the nervous tears in her eyes.

”I do not love fun as much as some people, but when I laugh, I laugh hard.”

”My aunt will be in bed to-morrow,” sighed Bidiane; ”what a pity that she is such a goose.”

”She is tough,” giggled Claudine, ”do not disturb yourself. It is you that I fear for.”

At last, the black, damp, dark road emerged on a clearing. There stood the Indian's dwelling,--small and yellow, with a fertile garden before it, and a tiny, prosperous orchard at the back.

”You must enter this house some day,” whispered Claudine. ”Everything s.h.i.+nes there, and they are well fixed. Nannichette has a sewing-machine, and a fine cook-stove, and when she does not help her husband make baskets, she sews and bakes.”

”Will her husband approve of this expedition?”

”No, no, he must have gone to the sh.o.r.e, or Nannichette would not undertake it,--listen to what Mirabelle Marie says.”

The fat woman had sunk exhausted on the doorstep of the yellow house.