"I be right," insisted Mrs.Todd with much amiability."'Twas most too bad to cramp him down to his peaceful trade, but he's a most excellent shoemaker at his best, an' he always says it's a trade that gives him time to think an' plan his maneuvers.Over to the Port they always invite him to march Decoration Day, same as the rest, an' he does look noble; he comes of soldier stock."I had been noticing with great interest the curiously French type of face which prevailed in this rustic company.I had said to myself before that Mrs.Blackett was plainly of French descent, in both her appearance and her charming gifts, but this is not surprising when one has learned how large a proportion of the early settlers on this northern coast of New England were of Huguenot blood, and that it is the Norman Englishman, not the Saxon, who goes adventuring to a new world.
"They used to say in old times," said Mrs.Todd modestly, "that our family came of very high folks in France, and one of 'em was a great general in some o' the old wars.I sometimes think that Santin's ability has come 'way down from then.'Tain't nothin' he's ever acquired; 'twas born in him.I don't know's he ever saw a fine parade, or met with those that studied up such things.He's figured it all out an' got his papers so he knows how to aim a cannon right for William's fish-house five miles out on Green Island, or up there on Burnt Island where the signal is.He had it all over to me one day, an' I tried hard to appear interested.His life's all in it, but he will have those poor gloomy spells come over him now an' then, an' then he has to drink."Mrs.Caplin gave a heavy sigh.
"There's a great many such strayaway folks, just as there is plants," continued Mrs.Todd, who was nothing if not botanical."Iknow of just one sprig of laurel that grows over back here in a wild spot, an' I never could hear of no other on this coast.I had a large bunch brought me once from Massachusetts way, so I know it.
This piece grows in an open spot where you'd think 'twould do well, but it's sort o' poor-lookin'.I've visited it time an' again, just to notice its poor blooms.'Tis a real Sant Bowden, out of its own place."Mrs.Caplin looked bewildered and blank."Well, all I know is, last year he worked out some kind of plan so's to parade the county conference in platoons, and got 'em all flustered up tryin'
to sense his ideas of a holler square," she burst forth.
"They was holler enough anyway after ridin' 'way down from up country into the salt air, and they'd been treated to a sermon on faith an' works from old Fayther Harlow that never knows when to cease.'Twa'n't no time for tactics then,--they wa'n't a'thinkin'
of the church military.Sant, he couldn't do nothin' with 'em.
All he thinks of, when he sees a crowd, is how to march 'em.'Tis all very well when he don't 'tempt too much.He never did act like other folks.""Ain't I just been maintainin' that he ain't like 'em?" urged Mrs.Todd decidedly."Strange folks has got to have strange ways, for what I see.""Somebody observed once that you could pick out the likeness of 'most every sort of a foreigner when you looked about you in our parish," said Sister Caplin, her face brightening with sudden illumination."I didn't see the bearin' of it then quite so plain.
I always did think Mari' Harris resembled a Chinee.""Mari' Harris was pretty as a child, I remember," said the pleasant voice of Mrs.Blackett, who, after receiving the affectionate greetings of nearly the whole company, came to join us,--to see, as she insisted, that we were out of mischief.
"Yes, Mari' was one o' them pretty little lambs that make dreadful homely old sheep," replied Mrs.Todd with energy."Cap'n Littlepage never'd look so disconsolate if she was any sort of a proper person to direct things.She might divert him; yes, she might divert the old gentleman, an' let him think he had his own way, 'stead o' arguing everything down to the bare bone.
'Twouldn't hurt her to sit down an' hear his great stories once in a while.""The stories are very interesting," I ventured to say.
