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 :-"

purpose

Perhaps some friendlier

Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in

England

By the 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:

66

Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Séjour, 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 were 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.

René 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 labouring 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 Létiche, 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 nut

shell,

And of the marvellous powers of four leaved clover and horseshoes,

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,

talk in the village,

66 thou hast heard the

And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand."

Then with modest demeanour made answer the notary public,

66

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 favourite tale, and he loved to repeat it

When his neighbours complained that any injustice was done them.

"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember,

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand,

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the

people.

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance,

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine

above them.

But in the course of time the laws of the land were

corrupted;

Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty

Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand

Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance,

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven.

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith

Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language;

All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapours

Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter.

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with homebrewed

Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pré;

While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink

horn,

Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties,

Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle.

Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed,

And the great seal of the law set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver;

And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom,

Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed,

While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draft-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old

men

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manœuvre, Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row.

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure,

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise

Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry

Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway

Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household.

Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the doorstep Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness.

Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearthstone,

And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.

Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber.

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded

Linen and woollen-stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage,

Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife.