"
"Her mother taught her. Her mother speaks the English better than you
yourself," was Breboeuf's ready reply. Later in the day that soldier
suddenly remembered that the good wife Breboeuf did not speak a word
of English, and he was properly mystified. By that time, however, Pierre
and the little one were far from Piziquid. With a merry breeze behind them
they were racing under the beetling front of Blomidon.
On the day following they caught the flood tide up Chignecto Bay, and
sailed into the mouth of the Au Lac stream, almost under the willows
of Lecorbeau's cottage. The joy of Pierre's father and mother on seeing
the lad so soon returned was mingled with astonishment at seeing him
arrive by water, and with a little English child in his care. The little
one, with her exciting experiences behind her, did not dream of being shy,
but was made happy at once with a kind welcome; while Pierre, the center
of a wondering and exclaiming circle, narrated the wild adventures of
the past few days, which had, indeed developed him all at once from
boyhood to manhood. As he described the massacre, and the manner in
which he had rescued the yellow-haired lassie, his mother drew the
little one into her arms and cried over her from sympathy and excitement;
and the child wiped her eyes with her own quilted sunbonnet. At the
conclusion of the vivid narrative Lecorbeau was the first to speak.
"Nobly have you done, my dear son," he cried, with warm emotion.
"But now, where are your companions of that dreadful expedition?
Not one has yet arrived at Beausejour!"
CHAPTER VII.
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