So she was made very cozy beside a diminutive stove, known as a Quebec heater. It certainly was a very warmth giving stove, with a black iron kettle on the top, which poured forth a long plume of white steam. On a shelf hard by a big yellow and black cat purred very loud, as though trying to beat the kettle. He was flanked on each side by pyramids of cheese. In spite of wind and weather, customers arrived, one and two at a time; they would step inside one at a time, leaving just room enough for Madame to curtsy. Most of them noticed Oisette and asked Madame about her. When Monsieur Tremblent came back at last to call for his little girl, he found she had made friends with the cat and had her pockets full of latire (molasses candy), and was holding a big red apple. Small wonder that her face was wreathed in smiles. When her father opened the door, Oisette heard Madame say: "Come in, dear, shut the door, and we'll have a cup of tay." A cup of this strong brewing was prepared for little Oisette as a matter of course--which may explain why her complexion was so murky. On this particular market day however, as she sat beside her father, the fresh September breeze gave her a very bright color, and her eyes were shining with excitement. Several lovely things had happened, all of which she would remember to tell her mother about when home was reached. First there was a band of music leading some fine-looking soldier boys along the road, and the tune was very catching. The boys were all singing "Over There" as they swung along. Then, because some road was closed for repairs, her father had driven into town by a new route and she saw, for the first time, a statue of the late King Edward the Seventh, which she admired very much. Then after the big market wagon rumbled down a very steep long hill, she saw the monument in _Place d'Armes_ Square known as "The Landing of Maisonneuve." This was an old friend, but she was never tired of looking at it, and knew all the figures about the base. There was the fierce Iroquois Indian crouching for his prey. There was the huntsman with his gun and dog; there was the sweet-faced nun, Jeanne Mance, who founded the order of Black Nuns in Canada, and then, atop of all, was the dashing French Cavalier Maisonneuve in his plumed hat, corselet and top boots. He was the founder of this great city of Montreal in the year 1642. She was never tired of hearing the story of those early days as her father told it to her.