Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?” As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover’s, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. III Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children’s children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white Létiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, “Father Leblanc,” he exclaimed, “thou hast heard the talk in the village, And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand.” Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,— “Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; And what their errand may be I know not better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?” “God’s name!” shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; “Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!” But without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public,— “Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal.” This was the old man’s favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. “Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people.