e there has been a dense fog."

"I am glad, Noel, you had such good luck this time."

"Yes, the porpoise will keep us in oil all winter, and as for the
seal-skins, I can sell them at Quebec for a good round price. So far so
good. But this is the first stroke of luck this year. It has been a poor
season. Have you any news, my mother?"

"No, nothing much, my son. There is to be a great pilgrimage to the
shrine of the Good St. Anne next week. Hundreds of lame, blind and sick
folk are coming from all parts of the country--from Quebec, and even from
Gaspe. Oh, my son, it is wonderful what the Good St. Anne does for her
children."

"Yes, yes," said Noel, impatiently, "but I want to hear the news of the
people here. How is Marie Gourdon?"

"Marie Gourdon? Oh! much as usual--always singing or playing the organ
at the church, and M. Bois-le-Duc encourages her. I call it nonsense
myself," and the old lady shrugged her shoulders deprecatingly.

"But, my mother, she sings like an angel."

"Yes, yes, Noel; so Eugene Lacroix says too."

"Eugene Lacroix!" said Noel, starting; "I thought he was in Montreal."

"He has been here for the last week. He came down for a holiday, and is
always with Marie Gourdon."

"Yes, yes, they are old friends. I do not care much for Eugene Lacroix.
He seems to me a dreamy, impractical sort of person, and only thinks of
his books and those absurd pictures he is always making."

"You think them absurd?" replied madame.

"M. Bois-le-Duc told me he had great talent. You know that, for a time
the cure sent him to Laval at his own expense, and now talks of sending
him to Paris."

"To Paris! and for what purpose?"

"Oh! the cure thinks he will make a great painter. He is always painting
during his holidays. I'm sure I can't see the good of it."

"Well, my mother, M. Bois-le-Duc is a very clever man, and whatever he
does is good, but I, for one, have no very high opinion of Eugene
Lacroix."

While this conversation had been going on, Noel McAllister did ample
justice to the good fare his mother set before him. Madame McAllister was
nothing if not practical, and cooking was one of her strong points. Her
_bouillon_, a sort of hotch-potch, was so good that a hungry Esau might
well have bartered his birthright for it. Her pancakes and _galettes_
were marvels of culinary skill.

Noel, having appeased his appetite, sharpened by the salt sea breezes,
and after enjoying a pipe, said, "Now, my mother,