218 OVER ON THE ISLAND

she was an English nurse. They met in London. At the conclusion of the war she came to Canada as his bride. We did not see her, as she was ill.

“Too much St. Anne’s Day,” whispered Jean.

St. Anne is the Indian’s patron saint, and every year they honour her with a celebration.

We went over to the hall. Lady Wood had donated the money to build it. Poor soul! If she could see it now—battered and shattered

Then, there was the monument.

“What funny names!” murmured Jean. “Knock- wood, Labobe . . .”

“When did Arsenault and Gallant become Indian?”

“Just intermarriage, I guess.”

“Look!” murmured Jean.

Suddenly we understood the attraction this barren little island would hold for a group of people. Ahead of us on the opposite shore was a quiet peaceful panorama of green checkered landscape. What if the island were itself plain. It has plenty to look at.

“Like a plain girl with a gorgeous evening gown,” Jean remarked.

”Only not so plain, many good features

!!

I amended. ”Lennox has

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