There were Indian baskets, picture post cards, and jewelry and candy. Her father told her she might buy a present to take to his mother who lived in the city of Quebec; she became so absorbed trying to discover what she could find that her grandmère would like that she never missed her father at all, she stood just where he had left her and gazed and gazed; while he was on the lower deck, having bought a cigar he stopped to chat with a commercial traveler from Ontario, who was much interested to hear about the melon farm; and followed Mr. Tremblent back again up the grand staircase, when he went to find his little girl. Oisette had just decided upon an Indian basket for her grandmother. This basket was woven in green and pink straw and shaped like a melon. "It will hold her knitting," she explained. "And she will think of you when she sees the melon." This amused the Ontario man, who shook hands with Oisette and asked her to help him pick out something for his little girl. Finally, after much looking, a pair of red slippers with bead work on the toes was purchased. Then the stranger bought a very tiny straw basket, which contained a thimble; the latter just fitted Oisette's finger, and she was made very happy when he told her she was to keep it. She made one of her deep curtsies, as the nuns had taught her, and said softly, "Merci bien, Monsieur." That phrase amused the giver so much that he took out his note book and wrote it down, and he asked her to spell it for him, and kept saying it over and over. "I'll tell my little girl," he said, "that these were your very words!" Oisette showed her father the thimble and whispered to him, "I shall make him a quilt!" Her father laughed and repeated her saying to the stranger, who declared that the very next time he visited Montreal he would drive out to the melon farm and see how the quilt was coming on. At last Oisette was ready to go to bed. It was quite late now, but Quebec has a long twilight in summertime, and from out the portholes she could see the little villages along the shore. There was always a fine big church and a good-sized convent, and clustered about these were such tiny houses. Finally, she fell asleep and dreamed that the big churches were large hens and the little cottages were chickens cared for by the very big hens on the hill! And sometimes they seemed to be all racing along the river's edge together. CHAPTER VII THE CITY OF QUEBEC THE big steamer _Richelîeu_ was moored at the docks below the historic city of Quebec at seven o'clock the next morning. Tourists were allowed to remain in their staterooms until eight o'clock if they chose and breakfast was furnished on board. But Monsieur Tremblent and Oisette were early risers and were among the first to walk down the gangplank, attend to their luggage and depart for the upper town, where Grandmother Tremblent would have a good breakfast of bacon and eggs ready for her guests.