Louis Street, Quebec, there to dwell as in a garden of good things.
After many days had passed, Joan tired of the concertina, of her own
dancing, of her father's tales, and became inquisitive. So at last she
said:
"Father, what's all this for?"
Tarboe did not answer her at once, but, turning to Bissonnette, asked
him to play "The Demoiselle with the Scarlet Hose." It was a gay little
demoiselle according to Bissonnette, and through the creaking, windy
gaiety Tarboe and his daughter could talk without being heard by the
musician. Tarboe lit another cigar--that badge of greatness in the
eyes of his fellow-habitants, and said:
"What's all this for, Joan? Why, we're here for our health." His teeth
bit on the cigar with enjoyable emphasis.
"If you don't tell me what's in the wind, you'll be sorry. Come, where's
the good? I've got as much head as you have, father, and--"
"Mon Dieu! Much more. That's not the question. It was to be a surprise
to you."
"Pshaw! You can only have one minute of surprise, and you can have
months of fun looking out for a thing. I don't want surprises; I want
what you've got--the thing that's kept you good-tempered while we lie
here like snails on the rocks."
"Well, my cricket, if that's the way you feel, here you are. It is a
long story, but I will make it short. Once there was a pirate called
Brigond, and he brought into a bay on the coast of Labrador a fortune in
some kegs--gold, gold! He hid it in a cave, wrapping around it the dead
bodies of two men.
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