Every parish used to keep holiday on the feast of its patron saint. The feast of St. John the Baptist, the patron of the parish of St. Jean-Port-Joli, falling in the most delightful season of the year, never failed to attract a host of pilgrims, even from the remotest parishes. The _habitant_, kept very busy with his farm-work, was ready by this time for a little rest, and the fine weather was an invitation to the road. In every family grand preparations were made for this important occasion. Within doors there was great cleaning up; the whitewash brush went everywhere; the floors were scrubbed and strewed with pine-needles; the fatted calf was killed, and the shopkeepers drove a thriving trade in drinks. Thus by the twenty-third day of June, the eve of the feast, every house was thronged with pilgrims from the manor and the presbytery down. The seigneur used to present the consecrated bread; while the collection at the high mass was taken up by two young gentlemen and two young ladies, friends of the seigneur, invited down from Quebec long beforehand. For the consecrated bread and for the little cakes (_cousins_) which accompanied it there was no small need in that multitude which thronged not only the church, but the surrounding yard. All the doors of the church stood wide open, that everybody might have his share in the service. It was an understood thing that the seigneur and his friends should dine that day at the presbytery, and that the curé and his friends should take supper at the manor house. Very many of the _habitants_, too far away from home to go and come between mass and vespers, took lunch in the little wood of cedars, pines, and firs which covered the valley between the church and the St. Lawrence. Nothing can be imagined more picturesque and bright than the groups scattered over the mossy green, and gathered merrily around their snowy tablecloths. The curé and his guests never failed to visit the picnickers and exchange a few words with the men. On all sides rose rude booths, after the fashion of wigwams, covered with branches of maple and spruce, wherein refreshments were sold. In a monotonous voice, with strong emphasis on the first and last words, the proprietors kept crying incessantly, "Good beer for sale here!" And all the papas and the amorous gallants, coaxed up for the occasion, would fumble dubiously in the depths of their wallets for the wherewith to treat youngster or sweetheart.