"Isn't it?" and Miss Gastonguay requested her pony to slacken his pace. One large white or yellow house succeeded another. All stood back from the street, nearly all were perched on high banks with flights of steps approaching them, and over all hung bare yet graceful and luxuriant elms. "Ah, the New England elms, how I love them!" said Miss Gastonguay, enthusiastically. "Do you know that this country was all a forest one hundred and fifty years ago?" "I suppose it was,--I don't know much about the history of this State." "It seems strange now to think of those days. This lovely river had only Indians on its banks. Then, just after plucky Jacob Buswell, in 1769, ascended through the wilderness beyond here, and hewed out a place for his log cabin on a spot where a cathedral now stands in Bangor, Louis Gastonguay, a Frenchman, and relative of the Baron de St. Castin, came here, and founded Rossignol." "How interesting!" "You must go to Bangor when summer comes. We go up to it as the people about Boston and New York go up to those cities. Rossignol is a dear little place, but small. Strangers get tired of it. Mind yourself now, Fairy Prince." The white pony was gathering his feet cautiously together preparatory to going down a steep hill. They were leaving the stately street behind them, and were approaching the business portion of the town. "There is our post-office," said Miss Gastonguay, "and our hotel, and lounging on the veranda is our smartest lawyer, Captain Sam Veevers, half Southerner, half Yankee,--a good combination. He lives in the hotel, and he has just been having a holiday in the woods, fishing through the ice. If you and Chelda make friends, you'll often see him up at our house. I think he is an admirer of hers, but I am not sure, for he is about as much of a sphinx as she is. Now there is our Bay, isn't it a beauty?" They had turned a corner, and Derrice had a complete view of the town and its surroundings. It was spread over a plain by the river bank. Hills dominated it on either side, and a little beyond the town the river, that had gathered itself together and narrowed visibly to rush by shops and houses, expanded into a wide and gemlike bay. "It looks like a lake," said Miss Gastonguay, "this enlargement of the river, but there is an opening in the apparent lake,--the sea is but a short distance away. We call it Merry Meeting Bay, because out there are five little rivers leaping merrily down to the sea. In summer the hotels out there beyond the big sardine factories are opened. Lumber and fishing and the sardine industry keep Rossignol going, you know. Isn't the view lovely?" "It is indeed," murmured Derrice, and she paused in silent admiration. "Look at the ice-cakes, shouldering and smashing against each other to get first to the Bay, where they will be ground to powder or sucked to pieces. Just like human beings in their race through the world." "Have you much society here?" asked Derrice.