Evangeline | Page 4

hast ever thy jest and thy ballad!
Ever in
cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with
Gloomy
forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them.
Happy art thou, as
if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe."
Pausing a moment, to
take the pipe that Evangeline brought him,
And with a coal from the
embers had lighted, he slowly continued:--
"Four days now are
passed since the English ships at their anchors
Ride in the
Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us,
What their
design may be is unknown; but all are commanded
On the morrow to
meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate
Will be proclaimed
as law in the land. Alas! in the mean time
Many surmises of evil
alarm the hearts of the people."
Then made answer the
farmer:--"Perhaps some friendlier purpose
Brings these ships to our
shores. Perhaps the harvests in England
By untimely rains or
untimelier heat have been blighted,
And from our bursting barns they

would feed their cattle and children."
"Not so thinketh the folk in the
village," said, warmly, the blacksmith,
Shaking his head, as in doubt;
then, heaving a sigh, he continued:--
"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor
Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal.
Many already have fled to the forest,
and lurk on its outskirts,
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate
of to-morrow.
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons
of all kinds;
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe
of the mower."
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial
farmer:--
"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our
cornfields,
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean,

Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon.
Fear no
evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow
Fall on this
house and hearth; for this is the night of the contract.
Built are the
house and the barn. The merry lads of the village
Strongly have built
them and well; and, breaking the glebe round about them,
Filled the
barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth.
Rene
Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn.
Shall we not
then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?"
As apart by the
window she stood, with her hand in her lover's,
Blushing Evangeline
heard the words that her father had spoken,
And, as they died on his
lips, the worthy notary entered.
III.
BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,
Bent, but
not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;
Shocks of
yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung
Over his
shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows
Sat
astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal.
Father of twenty
children was he, and more than a hundred
Children's children rode on
his knee, and heard his great watch tick.
Four long years in the times
of the war had he languished a captive,
Suffering much in an old
French fort as the friend of the English.
Now, though warier grown,

without all guile or suspicion,
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient,
and simple, and childlike.
He was beloved by all, and most of all by
the children;
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest,

And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses,
And of
the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened
Died, and
was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children;
And how on
Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable,
And how the fever was
cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell,
And of the marvellous powers
of four-leaved clover and horsehoes,
With whatsoever else was writ
in the lore of the village.
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside
Basil the blacksmith,
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly
extending his right hand,
"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast
heard the talk in the village,
And, perchance, canst tell us some news
of these ships and their errand."
Then with modest demeanor made
answer the notary public:--
"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet
am never the wiser;
And what their errand may be I know not better
than others.
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention

Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?"

"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith;

"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the
wherefore?
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the
strongest!"
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary
public:--
"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice

Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me,

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal."
This
was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it
When his
neighbors complained that any injustice was done them.
"Once in an
ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,
Raised