Brenda's Ward Part 38

"If the York were a real river, we wouldn't have to do so much planning, but you see it's only an arm of the sea, and in its whole seven miles from the harbor, the tide has to be closely reckoned with."

"Yes, I've heard weird tales of canoeists left high and dry on the sh.o.r.e because they had forgotten to calculate the rise and fall of the tide,"

added Martine.

"It's generally worse for the parents at home than for the stranded young people. I have known mothers half-distracted while waiting to hear from missing daughters," said Mrs. Ethridge.

"Then we were wise in coming with the girls," added Mrs. Stratford.

"As if we would have come without you. The whole fun to-day is showing you the river," responded Martine, who had been up with Clare before.

"There," she continued, "I forgot to give you my one piece of information--that Sewall's Bridge near the Country Club is the oldest pier bridge in the United States, and was built by the same Major Sewall who built the first bridge between Cambridge and Boston."

"Unimportant, if true," and Mrs. Stratford smiled at Martine's earnestness. "I approve, my dear, of your zeal for history, but in New England people often make too much of unimportant trifling things."

"Bridges and houses."

"Yes, and Indians and wars and--"

"Then you won't appreciate this verse that Clare recited the other day:

"Hundreds were murdered in their beds Without shame or remorse, And soon the floors and roads were strewed With many a b.l.o.o.d.y corse."

"Evidently the writer of those lines had a real tragedy in mind,"

replied Mrs. Stratford.

"Yes," interposed Clare, "it was the Indian ma.s.sacre of 1792, when more than three hundred savages came into York on snow-shoes, and killed half the people of the place,--all in fact except those who had taken refuge in the old garrison house. The minister, Rev. Shubael Dummer was shot while standing at his door--and--"

"Tell her, Clare, about the little boy," said Martine.

"Oh, Jeremiah Moulton, the only person within the Indian's reach whom they spared. He was a fat little boy, and when he caught sight of the savages he waddled away as fast as his little legs would carry him. This so amused the Indians that they laughed and laughed and spared him.

Though hardly more than a baby at the time the boy never forgot his fright, and years later he revenged himself on the Indians in what was known as the Harmon Ma.s.sacre,--and many people have since blamed him for his cruelty."

"Probably they had never been chased by Indians," responded Martine. "He jests at scars who never felt a wound."

"We must go to the McIntire garrison house some day," continued Clare.

"Though it wasn't the refuge during that particular ma.s.sacre, the two houses were probably much alike, and this is one of the oldest buildings in the country--built in 1623."

"Clare," exclaimed Martine, "excuse my interrupting you, but you are tremendously like Amy when you are imparting information, though at other times I hardly notice the resemblance. I shall forget half you have told me, and I wonder how you happen to remember so much."

"If you should come here as many summers as I have come, you would unconsciously imbibe dates and sc.r.a.ps of information."

"But now," said Martine, "we are hungry for something more substantial than dates, and with your permission, Mrs. Ethridge, we'll open the basket."

The sandwiches prepared by Angelina's deft fingers, and the cakes and fruit brought by Clare made a supper fit for a king, as Martine phrased it, and the journey home with wind and tide in their favor brought to an end one of the pleasantest afternoons of the season.

A few days after the canoe trip Martine and Clare started out for a day at Newcastle, accompanied by Angelina. Mrs. Stratford was spending the day with Mrs. Ethridge, and Angelina was in a seventh heaven of delight as she walked along carrying the basket. Angelina had an especial interest in Clare dating from the night of the Fourth, for she considered that her fire-balloon and the tact with which she had rescued it from Mrs. Ethridge's grounds had led to the acquaintance between the Red Knoll household and the family across the road.

She did not know, since she was not a mind-reader, that Mrs. Ethridge would have called on Mrs. Stratford within a few days of the Fourth, even without her intervention. But as her own belief made her so happy, no one had p.r.i.c.ked the bubble of Angelina's illusion.

While the girls were waiting for the car, Herbert came in sight.

"Off for the day, portfolio, camera, easel!" he exclaimed. "Then surely you will let me go with you."

"No," replied Martine firmly, "this isn't a picnic. We are just going off to work a little, and enjoy ourselves."

"I like that. As if I would interfere. Atherton will be along in a minute, and he would enjoy the excursion too."

"No," repeated Martine, with increasing firmness. "We have made our plans. We wish to go by ourselves."

Clare, who saw no good reason for Martine's att.i.tude toward Herbert, yet thought it wiser not to interfere.

Herbert, who so seldom was out of temper, now seemed offended.

"Very well," he said abruptly, "I won't trouble you," and turning on his heel, he walked away.

"I can't help it," explained Martine in answer to Clare's look of wonder. "One boy, or two, for that matter, would be terribly in the way in a little trip like this. Here's the car, and I am glad enough to be off."

Now it happened that Carlotta and another girl who knew Martine went as far as Kittery on the same car. On their return to York they found Herbert on the links.

"You were on the same car with Martine; did she say where she was going with Grace?" he asked abruptly.

"She mentioned Newcastle," replied Carlotta. "They will cross on the ferry, and may row back across the river."

"How foolish girls are!" grumbled Herbert. "They think because they can paddle up York River that it's perfectly safe to row anywhere else. I hope they won't try it alone. There's a fearful current at the mouth of the Piscataqua."

"I don't see why you should care," responded Carlotta sharply. "Besides, Martine can generally take care of herself. Besides, I must tell you a funny thing. You know there was a young conductor on the special the day we went to the Shoals. Peggy says he watched Martine when she wasn't looking, and I know Martine asked me if he reminded me of any one I knew at home. Well, to-day he was on the regular car--and once when we waited at a turnout, Clare and Martine got off and stood by the side of the road, and in a minute he and she were talking as if they had always been acquainted. They actually stood there under the trees and talked, and Angelina stood there grinning like a Ches.h.i.+re cat, the way she always does."

"Well, why not? Why shouldn't Martine talk to whom she pleases? Really, Carlotta, how silly you are!" and Herbert walked off with an expression of disdain for a foolish sister.

Now this is what had really happened. Martine and Clare had not been long on their way when the former exclaimed excitedly, "Do you remember, Clare, that boy I told you of, Balfour Airton, whom we met in Nova Scotia, who was so clever and knew everything about old Port Royal, whom I discovered to be a kind of cousin? Well, he's the conductor."

"What conductor?" asked Clare, who had not quite followed the course of Martine's thought.

"Why, our conductor on this car, and he was on the special the other day; I thought so then, but now I am quite sure. He hasn't given me a chance to speak to him, because I wasn't noticing him when you paid the fares, but as soon as I can I am going to recognize him."

A moment after this, the car reached the turnout where it had to wait for the car from Portsmouth, and then Martine had her opportunity. So Carlotta was right. Martine and Clare did spend a minute or two talking to the young conductor, who admitted that he had recognized Martine on the former occasion, though he had hesitated to reveal his ident.i.ty to her.

"Your uniform was almost a disguise, though at the last moment I knew it was your voice; but of course I had no idea you were in this part of the world."

Balfour had no time to explain before the other car appeared in sight, but as he a.s.sisted the girls back to their seats Martine said cordially, "You must be sure to look us up."

It was not long before they reached the point on the Kittery sh.o.r.e where they were to take the little ferry for Newcastle.

"The Piscataqua is more of a river than the York," said Clare, "and there's a good deal to see along these banks. We'll have to content ourselves with Newcastle to-day, but sometime we might go farther down and touch at the other landings."

"We mustn't forget that we have come here to work to-day," replied Martine. "I am really anxious to do one sketch--and here is just the spot," she concluded, taking her position at a point from which she had a perfect view of an old house well shaded at the head of a little beach.

While Martine was sketching, Clare fluttered about, taking first one thing and then another that pleased her fancy, and often including Angelina in her views to the great delight of the latter.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "While Martine was sketching, Clare fluttered about."]