Pierre was eagerly French at heart, loving France, as he hated
Le Loutre, with a fresh and young enthusiasm; and as his eyes rested
on the crimson folds, the red, blue, and white crosses that streamed
from the topmasts of the English ships, his eyes flashed with keen
hostility. Then he vanished over the dike, and was soon splashing
through the muddy shallows of the ford. The water was fast deepening,
and he thought to himself, "If Monsieur the abbe doesn't hurry,
he will have to swim where I am walking but knee-deep!"
There was another stretch of marsh for Pierre to cross ere reaching
the gentle and fruitful slopes on which the village was outspread.
On the very edge of the village, halfway up a low hill jutting out
into the Missaguash marsh, stood the cabin of Pierre's father amid
its orchards. There was little work to do on the farm at this season.
The stock had all been tended, and the family were gathered in the
kitchen when Pierre, breathless and gasping, burst in with his evil
tidings.
Now in the household of Antoine Lecorbeau, and in Beaubassin generally,
not less than among the garrison of Beausejour, the coming of the
English fleet had produced a commotion. But in the heart of Lecorbeau
there was less anxiety than curiosity. This temperate and sagacious
farmer, had preserved an appearance of unimpeachable fidelity to the
French, but in his inmost soul he appreciated the tolerance of the
British rule, and longed to see it strengthened. If the visitors were
coming to stay, as was rumored to be the case, then, to Antoine
Lecorbeau's thinking, the day was a lucky one for Beaubassin.
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