“My grandfather,” said she, “was the Chevalier Ramon Ducet de Trouville, a brave and gallant man who, for no good reason, disinherited my father.  The property went to my uncle, the only other child of the chevalier, and he, as I have told you, wrote many kind letters to me, and sent each year a small gift of money.  Well, he died before the war,—­it was in March,—­and, having no children, left half his fortune to me.  You, Ramon, will remember that long before you went away to the war a stranger came to see me one day—­a stout man, with white hair and dark eyes.  Do you not remember?  Well, I did not tell you then, because I was unable to believe, that he came to bring the good news.  But he came again after you left us, and brought me money—­a draft on account.  For us it was a very large sum, indeed.  You know we have always been so poor, and we knew that when the war was over there would be more and a-plenty coming.  So, what were we to do?  ’We will build a home,’ said I; ’we will enjoy life as much as possible.  We will surprise Ramon.  When he returns from the war he shall see it, and be very happy.’  The architect came with the builders, and, voila! the house is ready, and you are here, and after so long it is better than a fortune to see you.  I thought you would never come.”

She covered her face a moment, while my father rose abruptly and left the room.  I kissed the dear hands that long since had given to heavy toil their beauty and shapeliness.

But enough of this, for, after all, it is neither here nor there.  Quick and unexpected fortune came to many a pioneer, as it came to my mother, by inheritance, as one may see if he look only at the records of one court of claims—­that of the British.

“Before long you may wish to marry,” said my mother, as she looked up at me proudly, “and you will not be ashamed to bring your wife here.”

I vowed, then and there, I should make my own fortune,—­I had Yankee enough in me for that,—­but, as will be seen, the wealth of heart and purse my mother had, helped in the shaping of my destiny.  In spite of my feeling, I know it began quickly to hasten the life-currents that bore me on.  And I say, in tender remembrance of those very dear to me, I had never a more delightful time than when I sat by the new fireside with all my clan,—­its number as yet undiminished,—­or went roistering in wood or field with the younger children.

The day came when D’ri and I were to meet the ladies.  We started early that morning of the 12th.  Long before daylight we were moving rapidly down-river in our canoes.

I remember seeing a light flash up and die away in the moonlit mist of the river soon after starting.

“The boogy light!” D’ri whispered.  “There ’t goes ag’in!”

I had heard the river folk tell often of this weird thing—­one of the odd phenomena of the St. Lawrence.

“Comes alwus where folks hev been drownded,” said D’ri.  “Thet air’s what I’ve hearn tell.”