"They say that a church stood here in the earliest French days, with a set of silver bells that rang out most musically over the water. Then, when the church fell to pieces, the bells sank into the earth, and are hidden somewhere underground,--and any one who likes may dig for them." Martine began to prod in the earth with her parasol. "Come, my dear, we won't have time to-day, and you need a crowbar rather than that tiny stick. If you found them they would be rather too clumsy to carry home;" and Amy laid her hand on Martine's arm. "I'd rather look for Apostle spoons," replied Martine. "I heard of a woman who dug up two in her garden, and when she saw how dirty they were, threw them into a kettle of lye that she happened to have boiling for soap, or something of that kind. She almost lost her head when the ugly lead things came out looking like gold, for they were silver washed with gilt. If she found such things, why not I, for it's a true story, isn't it?" turning to Balfour. "Oh, yes, fairly true, and there's always a chance of finding something by digging long enough. But I would never waste my time digging, except with hoe and spade, for fruit and vegetables. There's good money," he concluded, "in strawberries here in Nova Scotia. In Annapolis I know a man who has several acres, and in good seasons he gets two thousand boxes a day." "Strawberries! Aren't apples the prize crop here?" "Yes, and more certain than anything else. A man can get $300 an acre from a good orchard. If money were the only thing I'd rather be a farmer than a lawyer down here." "That's better than some gold mines," said Amy, as they turned and walked down the hill to the carriage. "When I was a small shaver," continued Balfour, "and had plenty of time to spare, I used to walk there along the top of the dykes of Annapolis. From the base of seven or eight feet it narrows to hardly a foot at the top, and I can tell you that it was ticklish work keeping a footing." "Why didn't I know of that before?" cried Martine. "I certainly should have tried it. I love to walk on railroad tracks, and dyke-walking must be almost the same." "You can't try anything of that kind while you are in my care," interposed Amy. "The river is probably deeper than it looks, and if you should go too near the edge--" "Oh, I can swim, my dear Miss Amy Redmond, though, to put your careful soul at ease, I'll promise not to go near the water. All the same, I wish that I were an Indian, at this very moment gliding down from Minas to Digby. Didn't you tell me that this was one of their favorite routes?" and she turned to Balfour for a reply. "Why, yes," he replied, "from any point outside Minas they used to glide over to French Cross, then by a portage of four miles to Aylesford, and they would be borne on by the current down the Annapolis River, sometimes as far even as Digby." "French Cross?" asked Amy. "What have I heard of French Cross?"