212 OVER ON THE ISLAND

the monument, and several houses. Down the wharf came an Indian with an obstreperous calf which insisted on waiting for a later boat.

The church was first. Everything was spotless. Around the altar the Indian touch showed up, in the chairs, the leather work cushions, and the stools.

Away up the road, in the midst of a small clearing, stood the island school. Small it was and clean. The floors were of hard wood, and wonder of wonders, the desks were generally unengraved. '

\Ve plodded on in the blazing sun. Innumerable blueberries hung, luscious and ripe. We stopped, and stopped, and stopped again. Buildings appeared here and there but not until we reached the farther shore did we see any signs of cultivation. There, some men and boys were busy piling up the hay. From every one came the same inquiry: “Where are you from?” Overhead a silver monoplane flitted swiftly across the blazing sky, and in the fields below, the Micmacs plodded on at their daily tasks. Down the road came that calf propelled none too gently by its Indian master. So they did catch the second boat .

We came to the cove shore. The sun had reached its zenith—for me—and I prepared to take a nap. Not so Jean. She decided to see what was ahead.

Just as the last sheep was leaping the last hurdle, a voice spoiled his final jump.

“ Good-day. ”

I abandoned the sheep and sat up.

“Good-day!”

Two Micmac girls were looking down curiously at me.

I decided to ask one the usual questions about school