Читать книгу The Boy Tramps, or Across Canada - James Macdonald Oxley - Страница 12

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"Pray do not trouble yourself to speak our language, I understand your own very well."

Whereupon Arthur, feeling much relieved, proceeded to state the case, not forgetting to tell about the humiliating reception they had met with at the farm-house down the road.

The curé chuckled in evident enjoyment of the tale.

"Ah," he said, with a deprecatory lift of the head, "that was Madame Grothé, no doubt. She is a poor, nervous body who lives all alone; you must not think hard things of her. And now come with me. There is what they call a hotel here. It is a small place, but quite clean, and the Madame can cook," the last words being accompanied by a smack of the lips that spoke volumes for the culinary art of the mistress of the establishment.

As they walked toward the hotel they fell into easy converse, and the good curé manifested such interest in the boys and their doings that Arthur was moved to invite him to have lunch with them, which invitation, after some little demur for mere form's sake, he accepted.

When they reached the hotel, Bruce, determined that the meal should not be spoilt for lack of proper instructions to the mistress of the house, asked the priest if he would be so kind as to give the necessary directions.

"And what would you like to order?" he asked, evidently well pleased at the commission.

"Oh, we'll leave that entirely to you," Bruce answered. "We're very hungry, as we had an early breakfast, and have walked a good many miles since, and we'd better call this dinner, I think."

While the meal was being prepared the three sat in the shade of the house, and the boys asked many questions of their new acquaintance.

He heartily approved of the idea of walking to Montreal, greatly to Arthur's satisfaction.

"It's like one long village street nearly all the way," he said, "with churches every six miles or so, and plenty of little hotels like this one. You need never go to a farm-house."

The waiting for dinner naturally served to whet the boys' appetites to a very keen edge, and they hailed the summons to the dining-room with a shout of delight.

Simple and plain as the furnishings of the table were, they could not have been improved upon neatness, and when the dinner was served it fully justified the curé's promise.

First came a delicious soup, slightly flavored with garlic; then a fine roast fowl that the priest carved with admirable skill; after that an omelette aux fines herbes worthy of Paris, followed by a luscious pudding, with coffee to finish off. The bread and butter was of the best, there was cream in abundance, and altogether the boys enjoyed their repast so thoroughly that Arthur accurately voiced the sentiments of both when, leaning back in his chair with a sigh of unspeakable content, he said:

"I'd just like to stay here for a week. This is the best dinner I've had for ever so long."

The curé seemed highly pleased at their appreciation of the fare and establishment.

"It is very good, is it not?" said he, rubbing his hands together. "Madame Ouimet understands how to look after her guests. She would be very glad to have you stay with her for a week, I am sure."

"Oh, we can't do that, thank you," replied Bruce quickly, for fear Arthur should show some willingness to consider the idea. "We must keep right on, for it's a long walk to Montreal, you know."

After sitting a while over their coffee, the boys paid the reckoning, which was only one-half what they expected; and having thanked the good curé for his kindness, and received his paternal blessing, they set forth again, resolved to keep going until dark if possible, the curé having told them of a comfortable hotel about ten miles ahead.

They both felt in high spirits, and ready for a lark of some kind should opportunity offer.

As a rule, persons in that frame of mind have not long to wait before their chance comes, and they had not gone more than a couple of miles when they came to a snug-looking barn, in whose adjoining yard a number of hens clucked and scratched busily.

Just as the boys were opposite the gate, a big rooster sprang on top of it and crowed in the most vigorous manner. There was something peculiarly bumptious and challenging on his part that reminded Arthur, who was a diligent student of "Punch," of the "Gallic cock" so often pictured in its cartoons.

"Just look at him," cried he; "he's calling us names, as sure as you live. I'll just give him a scare, to teach him better manners."

So saying he pulled out his revolver, and before Bruce could stop him pointed it at the rooster and pulled the trigger.

Now, he had not intended to injure the bird at all, but simply to shoot over its head and frighten it with the report. But as luck would have it, his aim proved better than he imagined, and to his horror the bullet struck the ill-fated fowl full in the neck, almost severing the head from the body, and over it tumbled into the muck of the barnyard, flapping its wings in the convulsions of death.

The boys' first impulse was to take to their heels and get out of sight as soon as possible; but their second thoughts did them more credit, and, standing their ground, they looked about to see if any one would appear to call them to account.

They had not long to wait. Out of the barn darted a middle-aged habitan in whose countenance alarm and anger were curiously blended. He had heard the report, and now saw his pet rooster weltering in its own blood.

As soon as he appeared Arthur stepped up to the gate, and forgetting in his agitation to put his revolver away, and still holding it in his hand, said in English:

"I am very sorry I killed your rooster. I really didn't mean to, and I will pay you whatever it was worth."

Not understanding a word he said, and terrified at the sight of the revolver, the poor habitan shrunk behind the fence, and then deeming discretion the better part of valor, took to his heels incontinently, disappearing behind the corner of the house, which stood a little distance from the barn.

In spite of their concern at the damage unintentionally done, the boys could not refrain from bursting into laughter, the conduct of the frightened farmer was so comical. At the same time they felt bound to make fitting reparation, so they followed the fugitive to his house, Arthur taking care to put his revolver out of sight.

Their knocking at the front door produced no response, and in some perplexity as to what ought to be done, they were about to turn away when from behind the house came the farmer accompanied by two sallow-faced, black-haired youths who were evidently his sons.

Pointing at the boys, who now began to feel that the situation was in some danger of becoming complicated, he spoke with great vehemence and such rapidity as to be altogether unintelligible to the pedestrians. Anxious to bring the affair to a speedy conclusion, Bruce now stepped forward and asked:

"Can any of you speak English?" at which the elder of the sallow youths brightened up and replied with a conscious blush:

"Oh, yes, I can, myself. I have been in the big city."

Much relieved at this discovery, Bruce then hastened to explain what had happened, and how sorry they were, and how willing to pay the full value of the defunct rooster.

The young French-Canadian having repeated all this to his father, there was a manifest lifting of the clouds, and the atmosphere became less oppressive. After consulting with his sons for a few minutes the one who spoke English said:

"My father understands now, and is not angry any more, and he says he will be content with one dollar for the cock."

It was more than the real value of the creature, but the boys were in no mood for bargaining. They wanted to push on without further delay. Arthur therefore paid over the sum asked in silver, and bidding the trio, whose faces were now wreathed in smiles, a hearty "good-day," the boys resumed their walk at a rapid pace.

The afternoon lengthened out as they trudged steadfastly onward, being anxious to reach Pont Rouge, if possible, before nightfall. The rooster episode had quite satisfied their desire for a lark, and their mood was one of strict business.

The miles slipped by one by one, and they began to feel leg-weary; but not a hint of it did the one give the other, although the entire cessation of talk between them was enough to show that their whole energies were concentrated in the task of keeping their feet going.

At last Arthur could not keep his feelings to himself.

"Oh, dear!" he groaned, "when shall we get to that place? It must be ever so much farther than the priest said. I'm more than half-tempted to try another farm-house."

"Yes—and meet with the same warm reception that Madame Grothé gave you," said Bruce, smiling. "No, no," he added, "we won't do that unless there's no other alternative than sleeping in a barn."

Just at this juncture the rattle of a wagon was heard behind them, and through the dusk there came one of those long-bodied country expresses that have such fine carrying capacity. It contained two people, presumably man and wife, and there was lots of room in the back part.

"Here's our chance," cried Bruce. "Let us ask them for a lift."

When the wagon reached them, Bruce took off his cap politely and called out:

"Monsieur, voulez-vous nous embarquer?"

The farmer at once pulled up his horses and answered pleasantly:

"Oui, certainment, embarquez, s'il vous plait."

Feeling very much elated at the success of his attempt at French, Bruce sprang into the wagon, and Arthur promptly followed his example. There were some sacks of grain that made capital seats, and the tired boys stretched out upon them with a delicious feeling of relief.

Their good Samaritan seemed very eager to converse with them, and poured out a flood of questions in his own tongue, the gist of which Bruce could not catch at all, and at last he was fain to confess that his French did not go far, and to ask the farmer if he could not speak English.

As it happened he could do something with English, and managed to maintain a conversation in this language as they jogged along toward Pont Rouge, which was his destination also.

They had gone about a couple of miles, and were descending a steep incline, when a part of the harness suddenly gave way that let the wagon run forward on to the horses' heels. They were a sturdy pair of French-Canadian ponies, full of spirit, and this unexpected assault from the rear frightened them into a wild gallop.

There was no brake on the wagon, and it swayed from side to side of the road as it plunged down the hill at a fearful pace.