On this particular September morning, Oisette, when the Bonsecour Market was finally reached, waited patiently for her father, she sat on the high seat now by herself. The team, along with many others, was lined up beside the market. From this perch she could see the beautiful river, the boats coming in and leaving the harbor; she could see the wharves and the loading and unloading of great steamers. It was all very fascinating. Then back of her was the great market, all the stalls were piled high with fruit and vegetables of every size and shape in a riot of color. Along the pavement were coops of live chickens and turkeys. There were long pouches of "black pudding," dangling from the booths. The stalls were heaped with home grown tobacco, dark slabs of maple sugar, home woven toweling, curtains, rugs, carpets, firmly knit socks, elaborately plaited mats. A charm and a glamor hangs over the generally commonplace business of buying and selling, getting gain, and making provision for the needs of the day. The whole thing is like a gay picture book. There are groups of _habitant_ women, all talking in chorus; the queer little blue and red carts that have come from across the river by ferry; the small pink pigs squealing their hardest as they are lifted from the crates of the vendors to the sacks of the purchasers; the squawking of fowls whose end is near. Certainly Bonsecour Market is a spot to be visited if one would see the _Habitant_ in his happiest mood. About ten o'clock the customers arrive. There are lovely ladies in limousines, and sometimes there would hop out of a motor a pretty little English Canadian girl, to buy some nuts from open bags which always stand in rows along the pavements. One day a very lively little missie gave Oisette a handful of English walnuts and invited her to climb down and come inside the market and see some little pigs. But Oisette had been told to remain on guard, and remain she did. Now and then she would have a glimpse of her father as he went from stall to stall disposing of his stock. One of his best customers was an old Irish dame, who had a French name because she had married in her youth one Alphonse LeBlanc, but she did not speak French at all. She was very popular with the English customers, and many of the "quality" (as she called them), bought her fruit and vegetables because she spoke their tongue. Her manners, too, made her famous throughout the market. As a customer arrived, she would make a deep curtsy, as though Royalty approached, and would say in her rich brogue, "And what fer yez, Darlin?" One market day, when a cold slanting rain came on, Madame LeBlanc insisted that Monsieur Tremblent should lift little Oisette down and bring her inside Madame's stall.