Brother Billy Read online

  CHAPTER V. ANTOINE LEBRINN

  "Tell you a bear story, Beely? No, I'm too scare to tell you a bearstory," Aunt Florence heard Antoine remark. "I tole you dog story, hey?How you scare you old friend Antoine with you big dog. That was a badtrick, Beely. You do wrong to scare ole Antoine."

  So earnestly did the Frenchman say this, as he held Billy on his knee,the small boy felt uncomfortable, though Aunt Florence laughed, andwondered how and when to begin her lecture.

  "But, Antoine," Billy explained, "that was a game."

  "A game, Beely, you call that game, do you, when you scare ole Antoineout his wit? Game, hey?"

  "I knew Hero wouldn't hurt you, Antoine; he's a nice, kind dog, and hewouldn't bite a mosquito."

  Antoine shook his head and made a downward motion with his hands.

  "That's all right for you, Beely, but how did Antoine know the dogshe wouldn't bite one moskeet? When I see his mouth, I say to myself,Antoine, he swallow you sure, and then I call my friend Beely."

  "But I was a steamboat then," protested Billy, "and, anyway, I cameafter you, didn't I?"

  "Yes, Beely, I find you out in the wood some day, big black bear afteryou. Beely call ole Antoine, and ole Antoine he play steamboat, hey,Beely? How you like that?"

  "Tell us a bear story, please do," persisted the child.

  "No, Beely, maybe I tole you bear story, maybe so, but that big dog hescare me. Now, I'm scare out of bear story."

  "Poor old Hero, he wants to come in," said Billy. "Shall I let him comein and get acquainted with you, Antoine?"

  "No, Beely, I'm too much acquaint with him now. You call your dog, Igo."

  "But he likes you, Antoine; I could tell by the way he sniffs at youthat he likes you."

  "Yes, maybe he likes me too much, I'm think. I'll bring my gun nexttime," warned Antoine; "then let him sniff at me, hey, Beely?"

  "You wouldn't shoot him."

  "I wouldn't stand still and let him eat me, I tell you that, Beely.When you see Antoine coming, you better call your dog and hide him."

  "Give it to him, Antoine," said Gerald, with a brotherly grin.

  Billy said nothing, but, with his back turned toward Aunt Florence, hemade a face at Gerald.

  "Well, Beely," protested the Frenchman, "that's a pretty crooked faceyou make there. Let me look on that face. She's round like the pumpkin,and your eye she's like two little blue bead. Well, I can't see nothingwrong with it now. A minute ago I'm 'fraid. You must not make such facelike that on your brother, because, Beely, I'm afraid she freeze likethat."

  "But where have you been all this time?" questioned Betty, while Geraldmotioned Aunt Florence to watch the grimaces and motions Antoine madeas he talked.

  "Oh, I'm work back here on the cedar swamp, getting out some pole toload big vesseal when he come. Where's your papa? I want to see if he'shear anything of the _George Sturgis_. I'm think he's come last week,and I'm look for it ever since. He was going to come last week to CecilBay to get my pole to take to Chicago. I'm 'fraid we's going to get badweather, and I want to get out my load of pole quick as I could."

  "You'll have to wait, Antoine," declared Gerald, "because papa went tothe station with some messages, and he's going to wait for the mail,and the train's late."

  "Don't you want to see our baby?" asked Betty. "Oh, he is the dearestlittle fellow, just three months old. Mamma says he looks exactly asBilly did when he was a baby."

  "Beely ain't baby no more," commented the Frenchman. "I s'pose he ain'tlike the new baby pretty good?"

  "Oh, yes," Betty assured Antoine, "Billy loves the baby."

  "And I'm seven, going on eight," the small boy declared. "It seems ahundred years since you were here last," he continued; "have you beenworking in the cedar swamp all that time?"

  "Well," was the reply, "I'm think if you be there when the black flyand the moskeet eat you up, you would say it was one hundred year sure.You say your papa she go to the post-office, hey?"

  "Yes, and the train is late. If I was an engine, I'd get here on time,and not keep folks waiting for their mail."

  Antoine LeBrinn made a remarkably bad grimace, looked at Billy forseveral seconds, and then replied: "Little boy ain't got no patiencethese day. Now, when I'm a little boy and live on Cadotte's Point, weonly got our mail two time in one week."

  "But that was before the railroads came," said Betty, "and I don't seehow you got any mail at all. Did it come in canoes?"

  Antoine shrugged his shoulders. "No, Betty, the dog she bring our mailin those day."

  "Dogs!" exclaimed Billy. He was sure there was a story coming.

  "What do you mean?" inquired Gerald, seating himself in Billy's rocker,while Betty drew her footstool close beside him. "Antoine, what do youmean?"

  "Just what I'm say. Dog, she bring our mail in the old day. Did younever hear of a traineau?"

  "Yes," admitted Betty. "I have read of traineaus, but I never expectedto see any one who ever saw one. Do tell me all about them."

  "Well," began the Frenchman, making all sorts of motions with hishead and his hands as he went on, "well, when I'm little boy and thiswas call Old Mackinaw Point, there was no train and no steamboat, andin the winter-time all our mail was brought by these dog I am tellyou about. These dog she was train with the harness and haul a longsleigh call a traineau. I know a little chap," and Billy had to givea hard kick at somebody who pinched his toes, "I know one little chapthat hitch up one dog to her sled and take a ride on all kinds ofweather. Well, well, what's the matter with Beely? She jump around likesomething bite him."

  "Go on, Antoine, go on, tell us about the dogs," teased Billy."Gerald's always acting horrid."

  "Well," resumed the Frenchman, "a traineau was pulled by six dog; allhad harness on, and hitch one in front the other on one long string.The traineau she's all pile full of mailbag, and one man go along todrive the dog. This driver she go three, four hundred mile on one trip,and she would carry enough along to eat to last him and his dog four orfive day."

  At this point Billy became much excited, and broke in with a remarkthat amused Gerald so highly he stood on his head and waved his feet inthe air until Betty reminded him of his manners.

  "Why, why, Antoine," Billy demanded, "how could the driver carry stonesenough to last even one hundred miles, I'd like to know?"

  The Frenchman was puzzled. "Stone," he remarked, running his fingersthrough his short, black hair, "now what, Beely, would the driver dowith stone?"

  Betty clapped her hands. "When Billy goes driving on the ice withMajor," she explained, "he has to carry a pocket full of stones, orMajor wouldn't go a step. He throws a stone and Major goes after it;then he throws another, and that's the way he keeps the dog flying."

  "Well, that's pretty good," said the smiling Antoine, "but you see,Beely, these dog she was train to pull the sleigh when she was a littlebit of a pup. He was train so he was used to it. When the driver said'Go,' she went; and at first, no matter how much mail they have, thedog she would jump and run as if they like it. After they draw a bitload two or three day, she's begin get tired, and then they would layright down on the road, so the driver would stop and let the dog rest.

  "Here, on Mackinaw Point, the driver she stop at the little store andleft the mail for all the folks; for the fishermen along the shore andon Cadotte's Point where I'm live."

  "But where did the traineaus start and where did they go?" inquiredBetty.

  "They come from Alpena and go way up to the Soo, and then go backagain."

  "Why didn't they use big sleighs and horses?" Gerald put in.

  "No road," was the reply, "only narrow trail through the wood."

  "And was all the mail from the big world brought to Mackinaw that waywhen you were a little boy?" persisted Betty; "and did you ever get aletter?"

  "No, I can't say I ever got one letter myself. Little children ain'tmuch account those day, but my aunt what live on Canada send me onepair mitten f
or a New Year present. I'm just about big like Beely then,but I'm walk in all alone from Cadotte's Point."

  "And you must have seen a bear," observed Billy.

  "Oh, now, you Beely, you think I'm going to tell you a bear story. WellI ain't feel just right for tole you a bear story this time. I'm tellthat some other time. I'm tell you a bear story every time I'm see you,Beely, and I'm getting them pretty near all wear out."

  At this the children laughed so uproariously, the baby awoke and beganto cry.

  "Mamma'll bring him out in a minute," remarked Betty, and when thebaby, still screaming, was brought into the room, Antoine insistedupon taking him, to the delight of the children, who stood by, softlyclapping their hands and laughing. Their mother laughed, too, whenAntoine, who knew something about babies from long experience, beganwalking the floor with the little fellow and talking to him.

  "Well, is this the new baby? Bring it here and let me look at it. Well,a pretty nice looking baby, I'm think, if she ain't cry so much. Herface is all crooked and all wrinkle up. Come now, you ain't going tocry all the time. I'm going to look and see them little eye you gotthere. Well, she make quite a bit of noise for her size, but I'm goingto sing him a little song and see if she won't go to sleep again:

  "'The Frenchman he hate to die in the fall, When the marsh is full of game: For the muskrat he is good and fat, And the bullfrog just the same.

  "'High le, High low, Now baby don't you cry, For ole Antoine is right close by.'"

  "Now you see, Beely, she's quit crying already. You ain't know Antoinecan sing, eh?"

  It was even as Antoine said; the baby had stopped crying, and Billy,astonished by the music of the Frenchman's voice, begged for anothersong, insisting that anything would please him.

  "Oh, no, Beely," objected his friend. "I ain't going to sing no more tothe baby, she's quiet now. I'm goin to tole you a story."

  "Is it a bear story?"

  "No, it's a cow story. My cow she's run away once, and I'm find iton Wheeler's farm." Thus began Antoine, accompanying his words withgestures far more laughable than the tale he told, and causing thechildren great amusement. Billy's round face became one broad grin ashe listened.

  "When I'm take my cow home," went on the little Frenchman, stillwalking the floor with the baby in his arms, "I'm take short cut onthe wood; I'm go by old log road. There was a lot of raspberry there,so now I'm to pick up some raspberry for myself. So I'm tie my cow onblack stick of wood, and let it eat grass on the road and drag thewood along, and she can't get away from me."

  At this point Betty's mother rescued the baby from the arms of theprancing Frenchman, to the evident relief of Betty, who thought thebaby too precious a bundle to be flourished so vigorously, as Antoinestooped to pick raspberries and to tie his cow.

  "Pretty soon," continued the narrator, "pretty soon she give a jerkwith his head, and the piece of wood jump toward it and scare my cow.Well, she start to run down the road, and I'm run after it and holler,'Whoa, Bess, whoa!' but she's so scare she ain't stop.

  "By and by my cow stop, all play out." Antoine placed himself beforeBetty, who was sitting on a footstool near Aunt Florence, while Geraldand Billy were standing near their mother's chair, the refuge theysought when Antoine was running after his cow. "Well, as I'm say, mycow stop all play out. She stand right there on front that stick ofwood." Antoine certainly mistook Betty for the stick of wood. "She'sstand there and look straight at it, and she's go, 'Woof! woof! woof!'and his tail she's go round and round," and Antoine's arms made widecircles in the air, "but she's all right; she ain't hurt at all, so I'mcatch my cow and take it home, and I'm pretty glad she ain't hurt atall. Now I ain't tie my cow to no more black stick of wood. I told youthat right now."

  In the midst of the laugh that followed, and while Billy was pullingat the Frenchman's sleeve, beseeching him to tell another story, themarine reporter came home. Immediately Antoine told his errand, andmade his escape from the presence of the clamouring children, laughing,shrugging his shoulders, and declaring that he would sometime tellthem all the stories they would listen to. Thus Aunt Florence lost anopportunity to deliver her first temperance lecture.

  Scarcely had the door closed behind Antoine when it was opened byBilly, who followed his friend into the yard.

  "Here, Antoine," he called, "take this orange to 'Phonse. Mamma gave meone, and Betty one, and Gerald one."

  "It's a good little Beely," was the remark that filled the small boy'sheart with pride, as Antoine slipped the treasure in his pocket.