Marie Gourdon | Page 4

poor lad, he was doomed to have many
disappointments.
Some weeks after leaving his father's house, he joined the troops of the
young Pretender, Charles Edward; and three days afterwards was
fought the battle of Culloden, a battle fraught with such disastrous
results to the hopes of many gallant and enthusiastic Scotchmen.
CHAPTER II.
"Oh! Canada, mon pays, terre adorée, Sol si cher à mes amours"
French Canadian Folk Song
It was a bright August afternoon. The sun was shining down with that

intense brilliancy which, I think, is only to be seen in Canada, or in the
sunny climes of those countries bordering on the Mediterranean sea.
The little village of Rimouski seemed this afternoon all asleep, for the
heat made every one drowsy, and the old French Canadian women at
their doorsteps were nodding sleepily over their spinning-wheels.
Spinning-wheels, improbable as it sounds to nineteenth century ears,
are not yet out of date in this part of the country, and many a table-cloth
and fine linen sheet, spun by the women of the district, find their way
to the shops of Quebec and Montreal. A quaint picturesque little village
this; the houses are scattered and at uneven distances from each other.
Nearly all of them have large verandahs projecting far out on the
roadside, which is covered with uneven planks,--pitfalls in many places
to the benighted traveller. There are not many houses of importance
here, but there is a fine convent, where the young women of the district
are sent to be educated. There is also a school for boys, which adjoins
the house of M. le curé. The shops--picture it, ye dwellers in Montreal
or Quebec!--are three in number, and are carried on in the co-operative
style. Everything may be bought in them, from a box of matches or a
pound of tobacco, to the fine black silk to serve for a Sunday gown for
Madame De la Garde, the lady of the Seigneury.
Then, of course, there is the church, for in what village, however small,
in Lower Canada is there not a church? This particular one is not very
interesting. It is very large, and has the inevitable tin roof common to
most Canadian churches, a glaringly ugly object to behold on a hot
afternoon, taking away by its obtrusiveness the restful feeling one
naturally associates with a sacred edifice. This on the outside; inside,
fortunately, all is different, and more like the Gothic architecture of
Northern France than one would imagine from the exterior.
Next comes the railway station, a large ugly building painted a neutral
brown. Here everything was very quiet this afternoon, for except at the
seasons of the pilgrimages to the church of the Good Saint Anne of
Father Point, five miles lower down the line, there is as a rule little
traffic going on.
Between Rimouski and Father Point (called by the French Pointe à Père)

is a long dusty road, very flat, and, except where the gulf comes in to
the coast in frequent little bays, very uninteresting.
There are few houses on this road, and these are far apart.
At the doorstep of one of these cottages--a well-kept, clean and neat
little dwelling--sat, this August afternoon, an old woman, spinning
busily. She, although some of her neighbors might be, was not asleep.
Oh, no! Seldom was Madame McAllister caught napping, save at
orthodox hours, between ten p.m. and six a.m. In spite of her
seventy-six years, was she hale and hearty, bright and active. She was a
brisk little body, and had a most intelligent face. Her eyes were dark
and bright with animation, and her coloring was brown and healthy,
unlike that of her neighbors of the same age, for, as a rule, French
Canadian women of the lower classes lead very hard-working lives,
often marrying at sixteen or seventeen, and have scarcely any youth,
entering, as they do, on the trials and duties of womanhood before an
English girl of the same age has left the schoolroom.
But, as I said before, Madame McAllister was hale and hearty. This
circumstance was due most probably to the admixture of Scottish blood
in her veins, for her grandfather, Peter Fraser, had been one of the
stanchest adherents of the young Pretender. Disappointed in his hopes,
he had come out to Quebec to help in the wars against the French, and,
after his regiment had been disbanded near Rimouski, he remained in
the district. His colonel, a certain Ivan McAllister, persuaded many of
his men to remain in that part of the country with him, cherishing the
quixotic hope that in this new world he might form a kingdom over
which his idol, Prince Chairlie, should reign.
However, after struggling for some years to make a stronghold for his
rather erratic